


Paint Me A Picture

by missema



Series: Sword and Snark [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Breakups, Engagement, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Favors, Friendship, Gambling, Grief/Mourning, Jealousy, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Mystery, Nobility, Oral Sex, Parties, Pegging, Poison Pen Letters, Poisoning, Sexual Content, Threatening Letters, power games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 01:17:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 57,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4941130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missema/pseuds/missema
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in that nebulous time between Acts II and III in game, Norina Hawke discovers the scandalous secret hobby of Seneschal Bran. He's equally appalled and intrigued by her audacious bravado, and decides to indulge her request of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sifetine (tumblr)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sifetine+%28tumblr%29).



The Viscount's gardens were lush with their spring fullness, the green of the plants growing more verdant with every passing day. The warmth had brought the life back to Kirkwall after a dull winter, full of blustery wind and grey skies that were as like to snow as it was to rain or drop pieces of hail the size of a child's fist. It had done both snow and rain in great heaps, gales of wind foretold achingly cold rains that seemed to never end or heralded heavy snows that melted in short order but was no less aggravating for the brevity of its duration.

Seneschal Bran was unusually glad to see the sun this spring. His business often kept him behind his desk until all hours, and the gloom of winter had never truly bothered him. He liked cold weather, truth be told, and enjoyed that it kept many in their houses and away from his office. There was no desire in his body that included being among the great outdoors, and he assiduously avoided it whenever possible in normal circumstances. The winter had been unusually hard, the weather spoiling many of the dinners, balls and parties he used to keep himself busy in the evenings. It was one thing to like being inside, and quite another to be trapped within. Like most of the city, he breathed a sigh of relief when the spring began to creep in, and gladly took up the newest fad of the nobility when it arose. 

The gardens were not actually the private gardens of the late Viscount, where he knew that Viscount Dumar's many and varied servants still tended his prize collections, but rather the large park that was colloquially called the Viscount's garden. It was actually named for some tiresome old Viscount, long forgotten save for the grand green space they'd named for themselves. Bran didn't know if the Viscount had planted it or cleared the space or just decreed that it would be, and he made up a new tale whenever he was asked. People actually expected him to be a historian, just because he was the seneschal. It was tiresome, but no where near enough to deter him from spending his off time sitting in the now in vogue park.

Just like all the things the nobility did, the social exercise of sunning oneself in the Viscount's garden had its own set of rules. Favors had been distributed among the nobility like Caprice coins for Orlesian fountains. Each person had a set of favors that they could give in exchange for their attentions. The lesser nobles had more, the higher up had less. Bran had been issued five, small little things that were heavier than coins and were emblazoned with his name that had been discreetly delivered to his office without a return label. 

Truly, it didn't matter to him who created the game so long as it was being played according to the rules. Vague as they were, the rules were important to the whole process. Anyone could win a coin, suffice that it could be won, and all of them had to be returned within a months time. Favors could not be hoarded forever, otherwise the game itself would stall. He'd listened to an argument between Babette and Fifi de Launcet when they found out that more favors meant they were less prestigious. The young women had more than twenty coins between the two of them. Just the thought of it brought a wicked smile to Bran's face.

Kirkwall took to the game with gusto, reveling in the intricacies of earning favor and the gossip of to whom they were given. He had managed to lose all of his recently, and thus sat in the garden awaiting the impending approach by a token-bearer. Coins, once won, rarely stayed in the same hand. Their value was tied to their rarity, and favors won could mean more than just a turn about the park. It meant the attentions, however short-lived, of the person whose name it bore. Much business disguised as society strolls went on in the park, but that was always the way of it. Dances masked conversations, bedrooms hosted more deals than any boardroom. 

"You aren't walking today, Seneschal?" a nearby voice asked. Bran turned to see Sebastian Vael settling down into the seat next to him on the bench. He shifted to disguise the sigh that nearly escaped him. It had been such a pleasant day.

"I prefer to see who will come to me," Bran answered. His voice was a lazy drawl, as if the thought was obvious and tiresome to explain. It was meant to discourage the erstwhile Prince from more conversation

"So I see. If I might say, I think you'll be surprised today," Sebastian said, his voice hinting at a smile that Bran didn't bother to turn and see. 

"If you say so," Bran replied. It took a beat of silence for him to ask suspiciously, "Is that why you're here?"

For his part, Sebastian chuckled, apparently uncaring that Bran had spotted his ruse so quickly. "You've rumbled me. Hawke'll coming up the path soon, and you'll not have to suffer me any longer."

They lapsed into silence after that, but it was only a few minutes before Hawke showed up in the garden, creating a storm of whispers in her wake. The Lady Champion wasn't an uncommon sight, but she was always prone to incite whispering through her latest deeds, her choice of companions and lack of pretension. That same lack of pretension that made her favored among the common caused gossip and venom in the nobility, though they hid their derision behind smiles and fans. He'd heard her called 'coarse' before, and that was one of the nicer epithets. 

She continued along her way as if she didn't hear the people behind her or see them staring. She held herself well, the influence of her mother, no doubt. For all of her faults, she was certainly graceful when she moved. He wondered idly if it had to do more with the lack of her customary arms and armor, the enormous greatsword she usually bore in particular, but then decided he didn't care.

There was little to recommend Norina Hawke on his first meetings with her, but over the years in Kirkwall she'd come to make a name for herself as reliable and smart, even if her method of making coin was more than a little brutish. Time had provided them many causes to interact in the course of his work for the city and her overlapping interest in keeping it safe. There had also been the sad business with her mother and the transition of the title of Lady Amell to her. He'd overseen the latter and offered condolences on the former. 

Bran wasn't aware of precisely when his assessment of her changed, but she moved from mere annoyance to socially upsetting upstart to fascination. Other nobles had fawned over her right from the beginning, but he'd waited to see if she retained as much promise as she'd first displayed. Hawke did not disappoint, not ever. If pressed, Bran might even admit that he liked her personally, even if she did cause him more paperwork and headaches professionally.

"Sebastian. Seneschal," she said, greeting both of them in turn as she approached. Sebastian stood and bowed to her, vacating the place where he'd sat lounging on the bench alongside Bran, but Bran merely nodded at her. 

Hawke stood before them in a long gown of light blue that looked like an overlarge tunic that skimmed the ground. The sleeves made large bells around her forearms before being gathered in at the wrists. The bodice was corseted tight as was the current Kirkwall style, and decorated with gilt thread until it billowed out at her waist and became unconstrained silk waves over her wide hips. She looked like she'd dressed to compliment the white armor Sebastian wore, which wouldn't have surprised Bran. The two often walked together, for he knew that Sebastian had given all four of his tokens to Hawke and would only walk with her. He'd never heard of Hawke giving away any tokens, but the game was still new enough that she might not have yet.

"I have your favor, messere," Hawke said to Bran, mouth turning up at the corners into a small grin as she did. "Shall we walk?" she asked, and then held out her palm, in which rested one of his tokens. He had to suppress his own smile at the unexpected turn of events.

"I am obliged," Bran said, drawing himself up and taking her arm. He closed a hand over her rough palm, taking the favor back that she'd offered him, then deftly slipping it into his own hidden pocket. He could feel Sebastian eyeing them as they walked away, but neither of them turned back to look at the prince of priests.

"Seneschal, may I ask you direct and somewhat indecent questions?" Hawke asked after they were far enough away from the benches. Her tone was light, but her voice low. Had he not been expecting her to speak, he doubted he would have heard all of it.

"Indecent questions are my favorite kind, Lady Amell." Bran smirked as he answered, unable to resist the urge to play the bastard. He wanted to shock her with his answers to whatever queries she may pose. 

Whatever she was to the city, she was still the daughter of a true noblewoman. Her Ferelden upbringing hadn't stripped her of that, nor the good manners imparted by her mother. Many of the moves she made in society spoke to some instruction by her mother, and the young Hawke bore her burden well. Bran buried another sigh. It was such a shame what happened to Leandra Amell. Perhaps it would have been better off for her family if they'd never come back to Kirkwall, but then where would his city be?

"Alright, the first is this: I've heard that you are quite the painter of a particular type of portrait. They aren't always the kind that are displayed in the public galleries of homes. I need to know before we continue, did you ever paint my mother?" 

She didn't look at him, but he could feel how rigid she'd gone when she asked. He was sure that he too betrayed some tiny hesitation at her question, something that only she with her close proximity to him could detect. But Hawke need not have worried herself. Bran shook his head. His answer was honest; Leandra Amell hadn't been one of his subjects. 

"She never sat for me," he said, as if he was a real portraiture painter who took commissions. They both knew what he meant, and he felt Norina relax at his side. Bran spoke again,"though I am surprised you've heard of my particular brand of artistry. With the company you keep, I'd think you most disinterested in my...hobbies."

Hawke had no compunction to retain her facade of decorum and she gave a bleat of hard laughter at his words. Heads turned in their direction, but they were both practiced at ignoring them. What could possibly be so amusing? She pressed into his side like a cat rubbing against him as she spoke again.

"Seneschal, you know so very little of me that you cannot make such a judgement. I didn't make one about you, rather I was only concerned about my mother's memory. But you, did you think you could paint salacious, tawdry portraits of the nobles and you think it won't get out? Really, I'm surprised." She tsked at him as if disappointed, but he thought he heard mocking in the sound.

Bran stood up straighter, bridling at her admonishment. "As much as I'm sure you know about art, I cannot help but disdain your opinion. Have you even seen any? he asked. When she shook her head, he went on , "I suspected not. Champion, I hadn't thought you would give gossip any heed, since you're so often a part of it."

"My darling Seneschal, that is why I listen to it. How else am I supposed to find out who and what I've been doing." She laughed airily, sounding more amused than annoyed. Bran couldn't say the same was holding true for himself. She wanted something, but he wasn't at all sure what she was getting towards. If she'd meant to cover up some long ago scandal caused by her mother, he knew of none save for running off to marry an apostate. If her goal was to shame him, well, she wasn't the first to try. He could handle her.

"Is this why you wanted to walk with me, to tell me your blackmail plans?" he ventured, trying to suss out her intent. Not that he truly thought she was the type to stoop to blackmail, but he wanted to get the thought out of his head.

Hawke laughed again, pulling on his arm to bring him closer to her. She smelled like a mix of talcum powder and spice and rosewater. "There is no need to blackmail you, though I assure you that isn't my plan. I don't just have a favor of yours, I have them all, except for the one you took back. Serendipity was most amused when I told her why I wanted it, but all the others took a little more coin and coercion."

"Are you going to tell me why you have all of my tokens?" he asked, just managing to use smugness to cover his astonishment. Only the quickness of his words betrayed him.

"I thought it would be obvious, seneschal. I'd like to be painted. The tokens were to convince you, if need be."

They stopped their walk, though their pace had slowed so much that it was no effort to halt. Bran frowned at her, his eyes narrowed as he considered her. He wasn't sure how he felt about her proposition. No one was so gauche as to approach him for a painting. Then again, no one else in Kirkwall was a jumped up dog lord with hips like that either. Maker, she was pretty, and probably hard with muscle in the most interesting places. One did not heft the sword that felled an Arishok with just a smile. Hawke watched as his gaze turned from doubtful to predatory, taking in her form. 

"You want me to paint you?" he asked, making it sound more like something he disdained than relish. There was no one in Kirkwall he wanted to paint more than Norina Hawke, at least not in that moment. There was also no one he'd thought less likely to ask him to do such a thing.

"And all that it may entail," she whispered, leaning into him. They were standing together in a far part of the garden, though not alone. Walkers came strolling up the path around them, but no one lingered as they did. It wasn't a scenic spot, nor were there any benches. No one to bother them, to interrupt. There was only the two of them, and the suggestion that hung in the air between them.

Bran was uncomfortably hot around the collar, but years of practice had taught him how not to let it show. Propositioned by the new Lady Amell? He had admired her from time to time, with the occasional flirtation, a glance, or a dance. Bran could think of worse things that had happened to him than her indecent proposal. Indeed, the next day would involve much more arduous tasks and those were things expected to be routine in his work. Though he was ever cautious about such liaisons, the more he thought on it, the more Bran wanted to see her naked and laying before him. Her painting would be a jewel in his collection, and not just because of her notoriety. She was exquisite.

"I will send word," Bran said, deciding then and there. "We will need to be...discreet." There was no point in denying her, but he would be careful. This could still be a trap. He was wary of that sword she carried. Besides, he needed to get to know her first, as he did with all of his subjects. Their first night wouldn't be painting at all, and give her a chance to back away if needed.

They finished their circuit making much lighter conversation, Hawke even succeeding in coaxing a laugh from him once. She wasn't unpleasant, so he had that to look forward to during their sittings. He wondered if she would be possessed of any wit after holding a pose for an evening. When they got back to the bench, he relinquished her arm to Sebastian Vael, who walked her around the gardens, their heads together. Bran watched them walk away, with eyes only for his newest subject.


	2. Chapter 2

There was a summons waiting for her on the morning when she got home from the Bone Pit. Owning that mine had become one of the worst investments she'd made, even if she'd only struck the deal to try and keep the workers safe. Nori had been foolishly hasty in taking up the charge and was left with too many dead or injured workers to sort out. She would make Hubert compensate their families, as he had in the past. The fact that they were old hat to such sad proceedings only served to make her spirits plummet. Bran's note took on an ominous tone in her already dark thoughts, and she'd convinced herself he meant to cancel before she even stepped out of the door. He didn't want to paint her after all. Well, she couldn't claim surprise about a change of heart.

Her mind was occupied with desultory dismal thoughts as she made her way up the steps to the Viscount's Keep. There was always so much work to be done, it felt like a never-ending series of tidal waves, waves that kept crashing over her again and again, dragging her back in. After years of saving the city, she had little enthusiasm left for it. Kirkwall was her home, but it never felt as Ferelden had to her. Then again, Ferelden had never demanded so much of her.

Her feet almost lead her to the guard barracks without thought, but she turned before she went too far from her destination. It had been years since she'd gone to the Viscount's office, since there was technically no Viscount and she and the seneschal usually discussed business by letter - Bran was too busy to see many people in person. Norina silently debated stopping by to say hello to Aveline on her way out, and slipped into Bran's office. The templar guard admitted her without acknowledging her, though she knew the Knight-Commander would hear of her visit. Hopefully, she would just think it about taxes.

He still used the smaller seneschal's office, though he was effectively doing the work of both the seneschal and Viscount. She almost pitied him, though everything she knew about Bran made her think he would detest pity, especially from her. There was grey in his red hair that hadn't been there before Dumar died, and with every passing week his fatigue won another small battle on his countenance - adding small lines around his mouth and eyes. She looked at him across the desk while he studiously ignored her, continuing on with whatever work had occupied him before she sat down in the chair opposite.

Hawke watched him without bothering to hide her interest, her gaze captured by his hands as his quill scratched out his notes across a piece of parchment. Unlike her, he rarely paused to think but wrote on and scratched out the parts he didn't like at the end. He also refrained from spattering himself with excess ink despite the speed at which he wrote, a talent Hawke did not posses. With his face turned away from her, she could examine his profile as much as she liked and did. He had a lovely mouth and nose, though his nose was narrow from the front, it was quite nice in profile. Norina reflected that it was hardly the first time she'd studied him, just the first time since they'd spoken in the garden.

"You are staring, serah," Bran said to her without looking up.

"I am," Norina confirmed.

He didn't say anything further, just got up and took whatever he'd been writing with him. She heard him speaking to an unseen person beyond the door in an authoritarian voice. There was no argument from whomever took the parchment and Bran re-entered the office, closing the door behind him.

"I expected you before now. You have been gone from Kirkwall for some time," he said to her. Norina nodded, her glum mood returning in full force as she answered.

"My mine had a bit of a dragon problem. I was obliged to deal with it."

"Ah yes. Hubert Bartiere, your business partner, has already notified the office of the unfortunate events that occurred there."

"Is that why I'm here?" She was genuinely curious. Her interest had been piqued by his summons, but when it directed her to the Viscount's keep, she resigned herself to the realization that it probably wouldn't be about anything other than business or taxes.

"No. I very much want to paint you." Bran was seated behind his desk once again and was looking at her over steepled fingers. Inscrutable golden brown eyes regarded her, and she sat back, letting him inspect her as she had him. When he finally met her gaze, she mustered up a small smile. He frowned at her in response, as if he were uncertain as to how to interpret her.

"Will you dine with me tonight?" he asked.

"It would be a pleasure after a week away from civilization." She waited for him to say more, but he didn't. "So, why am I here?"

"To give you a chance to recant your choice and leave without insult. This evening, at my home, leaving would be more difficult. With wine, good food and expectations, decisions can become hazy. Here, we are both reasonably in control of our faculties. It is a matter of consent and courtesy. I will not start my painting tonight, so it is just dinner," Bran explained.

"With that in mind, do you still want to be my guest?" he asked.

Norina considered. When she'd approached him in the garden, she thought it would be a straight up transaction, though she had hoped for more. The hesitation on her part had been the initial worry that he'd painted and bedded to her mother, but she was confident he'd been honest in his answer. Faced with the chance to reconsider, she was forced with examining her motivations.

Why Seneschal Bran? That answer was the easiest for her to answer, it was about little more than ease of conquest and base attraction with him. The racy portraiture intrigued her, brought out more of the sexual adventurousness she hadn't explored much since her mother died. Then it had only been with the workers at the Blooming Rose, or the occasional romp with a suitably disposed friend of limited duration. High society was ever-filled with those willing to spill secrets and details of their encounters, and after hearing whispers of intriguing stories across her pillow the trail had led her to Bran. She had an idea of what to expect from him, in addition to the painting that would probably never adorn her walls.

There was an attraction between them, more than once she'd felt the eyes of the seneschal brush over her figure with an approving aloof gaze, and they'd often danced together at balls and parties, before the Viscount was killed. Nori recalled him holding her closer than necessary, the warmth of his steady hands, and the looks he sneaked at her décolletage. She liked him, and remembered his mirthless, dry chuckle soothed by passable wine, his eyes narrowed from across the candlelit table and the accidental brushes she managed to give him whenever she went by. They'd been flirting for a very long while, she realized and it almost made her laugh. The portrait was just foreplay. With an effort, she bit back the heat the surged through her and cast her mind back to the present, where the hooded eyes from her memories was awaiting her answer.

She answered him clearly, "yes, I will see you tonight." Norina considered for a moment longer, then asked, "should I wear anything in particular?"

Bran laughed, the sound rang out with a note of true amusement before it coalesced into a dry chuckle. "No, my dear. I don't plan on dressing you up like a doll. The idea is just the opposite, if you recall, but not tonight. A carriage will await you this evening. Now, if you don't mind, I have much to finish if we are going to get better acquainted later." Bran stood up and she mirrored his action, then exited the office.

On her way out, she skipped visiting Aveline, her mind instead focused on the preparations needed before she would go out for dinner. Her hair needed to be washed and well, all of her was quite filthy under her armor. The dragon hadn't left her unscathed either, and her wounds required tending. First she'd send Bodahn out for Anders and Isabela. She'd need both of them if she was to impress tonight.

#

As a rule, Bran didn't like coquettishness when it came to anything done in the bedroom. He liked things clear, open and ready to end if there was the slightest hint of discomfort. Rules made things easier, clearer, less prone to ugly misinterpretation. His paintings were almost always paired with time spent in bed, the better to know his subjects. In his office earlier, Norina had considered his words before she accepted his offer. Most did not take time to think, accepting too quickly and causing him to worry. Her thoughtfulness made him think they'd get on well together once things played out. Curiosity made him stop to daydream, wondering about just what he'd find under all of her armor. But he was getting ahead of himself; he had to procure the pigments to paint her first.

There had been little time to pursue his hobbies since Viscount Dumar died. His violin sat in its case untouched, and there had been no recent artwork. Had it really been years since his last painting? Bran inspected his brushes and equipment that evening and found dust and cobwebs upon his beloved instruments. So much had changed after the Qunari attack. As he worked, he thought back. He hadn't seen much of Norina Hawke since she was named Champion, but her retreat from society had little to do with her elevated status. It had started before, once her mother died. That had been a sad affair all around.

The clank of the glass jars in his hand made him pay more attention to his work. There was no need to mix his paints until he was sure of her coloring, of what she'd wear for him, so he lined up his empty glass bottles and brushes without creating his palette. It was better not to get too far ahead of himself, just in case she reconsidered the bargain they'd struck. Truth be told, he wasn't sure what she was getting out of this, save for his painting. Perhaps that was all she wanted.

Bran sighed, though there was no one to witness his frustration. His servants were all occupied constructing the meal and scene he wanted to present to Norina Hawke. She'd never been to his manse before, and first impressions were important. If all went well tonight, in a few days, he'd send another note around to her estate asking her to come for dinner again. When she showed up, he'd make some sketches and hopefully set up a schedule to which they could both adhere. Before Dumar died, he might have done more, set her up with Serendipity to find out her likes, or had the chance to better learn them himself, but time was a commodity he possessed in increasingly small amounts. Dinner was the best he could do, and after she left, he'd still have hours of work to catch up on.

"My lord, I've laid out your dinner attire." Bran's attendant stood in the doorway to the room where he'd set out his easel, the large library where he withdrew most nights. It was a comfortable study, filled with candlelight and velvet upholstered seating. His favorite place in his home, aside from his own chambers.

He turned to answer the pronouncement with a question, "has the carriage been dispatched?"

"Yes, my lord. The Champion is expected to arrive soon."

"Then I'd best get dressed. Thank you, you are dismissed," Bran said. He could dress himself, and would ring if he required any other services. His staff was used to his penchant for privacy, and the man left with a small bow.

#

She hadn't expected the seneschal's house to be so...lovely. It was far nicer than her own estate, but wasn't like the overdone Orlesian influenced homes of so many Kirkwall nobles. It was elegant, not gaudy or vulgar in the least. The decor spoke to taste rather than overwhelming money, though she did know that Bran was from a line of wealthy merchants.

The hall where he stood waiting for her was a decent size, larger than her own but not imposing. The floors were white stone laid out in a herringbone design, so smooth and old that her slippered feet slid slightly as she stepped across them. The colors around her tended towards rich jewel tones, mostly a deep emerald color accented with a dull gold. Artwork hung in gilt frames along the walls, but none were portraits. They were all landscapes of varying seasons and sights, and all done masterfully. Were they painted by him? She didn't ask as she met him.

"Welcome to my home, Champion," Bran said. He was out of his normal finery and in different more flattering clothes, but no less formal. He almost matched his surroundings, dressed in deep, dark colors of green and black that didn't clash with his hair. Her own attire complimented his, her dress a wine color and the hem patterned with gold vines and leaves.

"I am pleased to be here," Norina replied.

Bran didn't respond to her but offered his arm. "We'll be going to my private dining area," he told her, "it would be a waste to use the formal dining room for just the two of us."

"Sensible," Norina said. "Less work for your servants, and I suppose more privacy for us." Her nervousness manifested itself the way it almost always did, all chance of easy small talk fleeing her. Often at parties she was reduced to asking questions or reciting a fact or two here and there until her head cleared. This felt like one of those parties where she could think of nothing to say and no one to rescue her.

Bran didn't say anything more as he led her up the stairs and away from the main part of the house. She walked slowly, taking time to admire his home. He matched his stride to hers as he had when they walked in the Viscount's gardens. When they passed his courtyard, she stopped to look out upon it. It was a beautiful space, green and lush with grasses and flowers, topiaries shaped elegantly and stone statuary in the midst of all the flora. There was nothing restrained about it, but it still had manicured look. She sighed as she looked out at it.

"I am very jealous of your courtyard. The small garden I have is only good for growing dirt."

"I cannot claim any great affinity for flowers or the like, but over the years it has grown into a pleasant enough spot. Gardening takes years to show results, or at least it did with mine."

She favored him with a smile. "Then perhaps there is hope for mine after all." She reached out for his hand and he gave it without hesitation. "Are you uncomfortable, seneschal?"

"Not at all, but it is not my lead that needs to be followed," Bran said.

"Oh, so it's all up to me is it?" she asked, and squeezed his hand. "Let's have dinner first, shall we?"

He nodded and took her arm up again. With one final glance at the garden, Norina let herself be steered away, up the stairs and into the private dining room adjacent to what she assumed was the family apartments. Bran's home was not what she expected of him, though she wasn't foolish enough to think that he wouldn't be proper in all of his decor and outward appearances. It was old, stately and surprisingly unfussy, which didn't suit the idea of him she had in her head. Perhaps it was time to amend her perceptions, and this dinner would be the start.

Dinner was already set out for them in steaming covered dishes. It was a light dinner, but Bran hadn't stinted in quality just because there were only two people dining. She let him pull out her chair at the table, smiling up at him, delighted to see him smile back. The dishes were presented to her and he served her. There were no maids or other servants around at all. She was rather surprised by Bran's willingness to serve. Once they were settled with full plates, he made no attempt at small talk, but responded well to her overtures. Her nervousness had departed, and she was able to remember her good graces once again. It was unexpectedly pleasant between them, and she let her wine go to her head.

He was still studying her, she could see it in his expression. Bran was sitting back in his chair, wine glass in hand, but not drinking. His eyes were on her alone, even when she wasn't speaking. There was no reason to hide now. They were past the feigning of disinterest or disdain. The full weight of his regard filled her with heat and questions that needed answering.

"I want to kiss you," Norina announced, setting down her goblet with more force than necessary. Little red droplets sparkled as they splashed upward, miniature garnets catching the light until they spread unnoticed across the tablecloth.

Kissing him, being with him, all the things that she hoped this endeavor would eventually entail had been on her mind throughout dinner. She'd wanted to since they'd met in his office earlier. With just enough wine to make her talkative and brave, but not sloppy and forgetful, she finally voiced what she'd wanted to say all night.

Bran eyed her across the table, settling back into his seat with a smirk on his face. "There's nothing stopping you from claiming your prize, serah."

"You are my prize, aren't you?" Norina asked as she moved around the table. When she got to Bran instead of dipping her head for a kiss, she sat down heavily on his lap. Surprise flickered in his eyes momentarily before he accepted her weight, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist.

Then she did kiss him, all too-hot mouth and inelegant movements, but his face had been turned up towards hers in a question that he hadn't spoken and all she could do was capture his lips in response. He held her with a hand on the small of her back, but other than that press of palm, all she felt was their kiss.

" _I_ am your prize?" he asked, looking amused as she pulled away from him.

"Yes. You can have anything you want, everyone in Kirkwall owes you something, and you've invited me to dinner. I may have your favors, but you chose how graciously they are answered."

For that answer, she earned another kiss. It was lingering, her mouth met his and was coaxed into a slow dance, he with a hand in her hair that pulled her forward and stroked her neck, and she with her arms around him. Sitting on Bran's lap didn't make for the best position for prolonged kisses, but Nori felt the closeness was worth the slight discomfort. She could feel his growing regard for her, the heat of his chest under her hands and was certain he knew of her own desire. When he pulled away, he caught her hands and held them in his.

"I don't find you disagreeable, serah," Bran told her when they broke apart. "In fact, I find you perfectly lovely to look at and interesting to converse with for the most part. But there are times when your acquaintance is very trying to my diplomatic way of life. You have a habit of killing things in your way, and not with words."

Norina laughed and sat up straighter. It was a delicate balance on his lap, but she didn't want to leave a perch that offered such free access to his lips. It was also very telling to see how his regard for her rose the longer she sat there.

"So I do. And I'm terribly Ferelden and often brash, forward and prone to myriad of social gaffes my mother was always trying to train out of me. But my dear seneschal, I am not without charm, and I find that goes a long way."

"Yes, it does," Bran conceded, then lowered his voice and added, "beauty also helps."

She sensed a shift, though Bran did nothing more than kiss her again. He had seemed to be debating something with himself, and now was decided -- she could feel the sureness of it reflected in his kiss. Where his mouth was once tentative and tongue questing, they were now assured, bold in their movements. He took instead of waiting for her to give, true to his bastard persona, but she knew he had limits. Bran would not have kissed her had she not suggested it, and he was free to play within their restrictions as he liked. She wondered how this night would progress.

Norina didn't have to wonder for very long. He picked her up with arms that were stronger than she expected of any bureaucrat, and she locked hers around his neck and legs about his waist. They were to travel, but she doubted it was to his bed. As careful as he was, Bran would have asked her if it was his intention to ravish her. He'd already impressed upon her his adherence to rules. Things were always explicit with him, and she was prepared to dive head first into whatever may come. She'd been forewarned about his boldness, the frankness of his speech and his mercurial nature. Had she not liked those things, she wouldn't have approached him.

But he laid he gently on a chaise in an adjoining room, opened the velvet curtains to let in more light and then began to pose her. Evening light played across her face, and she instinctively turned away from it, away from Bran. She hadn't expected this after their dinner.

"I thought you weren't going to paint tonight," she said, turning to give him a questioning look.

"And I am not. Put your arm on the arm of the chaise and then rest your chin on your fist. Look out the window." Norina moved as she was bade.

"I am merely going to sketch you. If I continued to let you sit on my lap and kiss me, things would have become indecent in a hurry," Bran admitted.

"Well, that's all right." She blushed as she said it, glad her face was averted from his.

"It would be enjoyable, but a waste. We would tire of each other sooner rather than later, and I have months of work to do. And this way I can remember you with such high color in your cheeks, serah."

She laughed and let him adjust her skirt until it was to his liking, then watched him retreat out of the corner of her eye. He settled himself down behind a table that faced her, with an array of parchment scattered over the surface. Bran looked supremely comfortable behind the desk, almost as if he were at the Keep and not in his own home.

"You can talk if you can do so without moving your mouth too much," he told her.

"What about?" She could manage speech, but wasn't sure about a topic.

"Anything. If you have to tell me about your childhood and all the mundane things until we get to the fascinating parts, then start at the beginning." Bran frowned down at his own blank paper, but the expression was unseen by her eyes, almost turned completely away from him. He was sketching her in profile, the last evening light playing across her face. He hoped he could get her face done before the sun set completely.

"Fascinating parts?" she asked, unsure what in her life would fascinate Bran. Maybe he wanted to hear about how she got to Kirkwall? That didn't seem likely. He'd never asked her about her adventures, not once. Anything he wanted to hear wouldn't be the same tales that captivated at Hanged Man, and those she left to Varric.

"What sort of desires do you hide in your deepest fantasies? Is it a third person? Do you want another woman to join you and a partner, or does it run closer to wanting to show your complete obedience to a safe lover? Will you let me screw you against a wall? Do you like blindfolds? Have you ever been bound with silk and teased without release until you begged? Those sorts of things."

Norina felt herself blush again. "Oh," was all she could say, and the sound was enough to confirm what Bran thought.

"Your nerve has deserted you once you stopped drinking. I thought it might, but that's nothing we can't work past. Start at the beginning," he said. His voice wasn't exactly kindly, but less waspish as he drew careful lines over the parchment with charcoal.

There was nothing for it but to start talking, or sleeping. The silence was complete and Bran would not fill it himself. If she was going to stay awake, she had to talk. Norina spoke looking out the window, admiring the shafts of light as they colored everything gold. "Well, you know about my mother's family, and that my father was an apostate. Did you know I once had a brother? His name was Carver." Bran did not answer, and she went on, talking softly as the sun descended and he sketched lines across his paper.


	3. Chapter 3

Bran hadn't expected her to be so honest, at least, not with him. When he said start at the beginning, he never knew what he would get with nobles. They lied so easily and often, building up their own status with obvious fabrications. But Norina Hawke hadn't needed to spin falsehoods to make herself seem interesting. Her vulgar honesty was nearly enchanting.

There he was thinking of her like a schoolboy with a crush, days past her visit to his manse. His attention was better spent on maintaining the order at the Viscount's Keep, so sadly devoid of a Viscount. He missed Dumar, not just as Viscount, but as a friend. Hawke was out and about on the streets, though Bran wasn't sure what in particular she might be doing out there. The absence of the Guard-Captain soothed his somewhat worried mind whenever he thought overlong about her. Aveline Hendyr wasn't the type of woman to suffer foolishness, not even in her friends, and especially not in any foe they might face together.

Infatuation was such a silly, insipid thing to fall prey to, yet he was caught like a fox in a snare. They'd kissed, and he couldn't confine those shared moments to memory, though he'd tried. She'd been so soft and determined, sitting on his lap. Now he couldn't forget the feeling, and Bran chided himself. Always he gave in too quickly and was disappointed, people so rarely continued to live up to their first impressions.

He lay against a red silk pillow, thinking of Norina, and then chastising himself for thinking so much about her. His favorite whore played with his feet and ankles, messaging oil into his skin. Despite his outward aversion to appearing even the slightest bit out of control, he had no problem confiding in Serendipity. They had an understanding between the two of them.

"You're not talking out loud, seneschal. I can't answer if all you do is scowl and sigh," Serendipity said.

It was late, far later than he was normally out and around Hightown, but his hours were never regular anymore. "What did the Champion say to you to get my favor?" He narrowed his eyes at her from across the bed, but there was no malice in it.

"She said, 'I wish to surprise to seneschal'. So then I pointed out that a great many people had tried, gleefully or otherwise, and failed."

"What did she say then?"

"That, where they failed, she would succeed, because you weren't expecting anything of her." Serendipity shrugged. "I didn't take that the honey badger meant to hurt you, so I figure, why not? and I gave it to her."

"Honey badger?"

Serendipity let loose one of her wicked laughs, the kind that she saved for when she was truly amused. It pleased him that he knew the difference between her work laugh and the real one. But she didn't answer his question about the name, simply ran a finger up his leg to distract him further.

"Did she manage to succeed?" Serendipity asked.

Bran thought about it, thinking back to their meeting in the Viscount's gardens. Yes, maybe a little, she had surprised him then. Definitely after their dinner together, when she was so sweetly brazen and then open, as if they'd never glared at each other across his desk, like each and every insult between them had been forgiven. Not forgotten, just set aside until they needed to pick up where they left off.

"Not really," Bran said, lying horribly. He wasn't convincing and he knew it, but Serendipity didn't seem to mind. The problem was, he wasn't even sure why he'd lied.

#

She was going to this dinner accompanied by the Knight-Captain. Norina had noticed that whenever a social function involved food, suddenly the Knights of the Templar Order more than willing to accompany her there, in dress uniform. They never seemed to be around for the music salons, the dances, the endless plays featuring the talentless sons and daughters of bored nobles. But Templars often and did come out for food, though they were obliged to be in attendance whenever the Viscount's office held an official event.

It was official this night, but only because the nobles had planned it in the name of the Viscounty. Bran was not Viscount, and did not perform many of the duties, including hosting dinners, salons or parties for the good of Kirkwall. However, one was planned and executed for him, with the excuse that if the nobles didn't host one, then the Knight-Commander might, or worse, the commoners might think that they'd lost their party planning ability. Without official oversight, money had been thrown around rather recklessly. She'd heard that they'd even imported the astoundingly expensive sweet Tevinter ice wines for the dessert course. It was certain to be a spectacle.

Cullen was waiting for her when she opened her bedroom door to yell for Orana. Her blasted house was too big for just a shout now, and she would forever miss that about Lothering. All of her life, Nori could just shout for someone - her mother, father, Carver or Bethany - and they'd hear her, come to her within a few seconds. But now they were all gone, none of them lived there. When her mother was there, she hadn't even been able to hear Nori shouting from her bedroom. She leaned out of her door and give a much louder yell for Orana.

"Maker's breath, Hawke," Cullen said, coming up the stairs. "You've a set of lungs on you. Your maid dashed off the moment I got here. Can I help?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm nearly done, I just can't find my shoes and this dress isn't made for bending. I can sit, but that does me little good right now."

Cullen came into her room, unsurprised at the maelstrom of clothes strewn around. He'd been her date before, several times. They were growing more comfortable with each other, especially now that Meredith could not order her arrest without enraging the city. He worried for her, looked out for Bethany and did what he could in a place he little understood. It had taken years for her to see that, to get past her anger. When she did, she found a friend that was as Fereldan as she was, kind and thoughtful. She liked his earnestness, the quiet piousness that made him stop to actually consider Nori's heated questions about the Order and mages. He reminded her a little of Carver if he'd had time to grow into himself, or at least someone that Carver might have admired.

"I think they might be under the bed. Maybe? It's black slippers this time," she said. Cullen, in his dress uniform, sighed and bent down to look for her shoes. He was smiling, although it was a tired smile as he searched.

"How's the Gallows?" she asked, standing in front of the mirror.

Her hair was out of its customary bun and fell in long, dark waves over her bare shoulders. It stayed in place with generous amounts of pomade that made it catch the light and shine like obsidian. The dress she wore was black but richly embroidered with gilt, sleeveless and fitted around the bodice and through the thigh. Of course, that meant she had to wear gloves, black ones that came up to her elbows. She was glad of them, because her hands were rough and prone to callouses from handling her sword. Lastly, there were dainty matching slippers, which Cullen held up in triumph after rifling through a pile of clothes on a chair.

"It is as it ever was, serah," Cullen said. He was quieter these days, and she wondered if that was as bad as it seemed.

"Cullen, is everything alright?"

He put the slippers on the floor in front of her and she stepped into them, balancing herself with her hands on his shoulders as she did. Hawke took the time to examine him up close. He looked the same as he always did, though perhaps his fatigue was no longer so easily hidden. The shadows beneath his eyes were darker, the stubble he could not seem to banish was thicker, as if he had skipped a shave or two. She released him and stepped back, her worries not assuaged.

"Why do nobles eat dinner so late?" he asked with real exasperation, dodging her question. Nori grinned up at him.

"I don't know, but let's not keep them waiting any longer, Knight-Captain. Show them how the templar order isn't afraid to devour when the rest of us nibble."

Cullen laughed at her statement, his all too rare real chuckle of amusement. Then he offered her his arm and led her out into Hightown.

#

Bran never needed to ask when Hawke entered a party. The buzz of voices always grew louder when she entered, the gossip, obsequious titters and the imperious sniffing. There were always those that fawned over her, no matter what she did, because the Champion was obscenely wealthy, even for Kirkwall where they made and lost fortunes in shipping. There were far fewer of the derisive sniffers these days because of her vast wealth, and her marriage eligibility. She didn't seem to mind stepping out with numerous people of her acquaintance, but none of them were her paramour, and that fueled upper classes in their delusions that one of their weedy sons might claim her in both heart and access to her purse.

He was afraid that she might bring the pirate 'queen' but Hawke had opted for the Knight-Captain. The Knight-Captain, younger than her and pious as a Chantry mouse, though Bran had heard he was good with a sword. He wasn't exactly sure in what context it was meant, but it had to mean something.

It was his duty to talk to Hawke, and sadly, the rest of the people around her. He was obliged to greet the Champion, but every time he managed to get through the crowd around her, she slipped away from him. When Bran made it to Cullen, the Knight-Captain accepted his greetings on behalf of his Order, but Hawke wasn't at his side.

"Didn't you arrive with the Champion, Knight-Captain?" Bran asked.

Cullen raised an eyebrow at him. "I did. But she is not obliged to stay by my side, messere."

Cullen's face had no hint of a grin, but Bran heard one anyway in the words. He might not have been her jailer, but he was one, the cheeky bastard. Perhaps later he would invite the Knight-Captain for a detailed review of the city accounts, on the pretext of keeping the Order informed. It was the least he could do.

But just then, Bran spotted Hawke as he turned away from the Knight-Captain. She was across the room, fully ensconced in a discussion with a Duke. Hawke was always a beautiful woman, but just then, she was stunning. She was all black and gold, like an Antivan merchant princess. The light bounced off the gilt thread in her dress, making her skin look like molten copper. Her dress fit in such a way that left no imagining necessary with regards to her figure. The muscles in her back flexed as she moved an arm as she spoke, and Bran was aware that he was staring overlong at her. He took a drink from his wine just to have something to do. When he went over to greet the Duke, Hawke had just moved on to speak with the de Launcets. She smirked at him from between Babette and Fifi.

Then it was his turn to be caught, but Bran never imagined that he might escape the night completely unscathed. There were many, many idiots looking for something from him - approval, favor, money. As adept as he was, he couldn't dodge them all. One such lordling from a family of backwards pricks that had pissed away all of their money like the drunken sods they were succeeded in boring him for a while until he could extricate himself. There probably were more people hoping to talk at him, but Bran's glare combined with his determined pursuit of the Champion made him hard to pin down. She flitted about the room and he followed in her wake, like a moth following the light of a lone torch.

When he finally managed to corner to her, Bran had the overwhelming feeling she'd led him to her. She was standing out of the balcony with Cullen, the two of them next to each other, learning over the railing. They were trying, and mostly failing, to suppress snorts of undignified laughter at something. The feeling between them was relaxed, more than friendly, and it confounded Bran until he approached them.

"Champion."

Both Hawke and Cullen turned to look at him, Cullen stoic and expressionless, Hawke looking mildly guilty about something. Bran didn't care about their gossip or whatever else might make them laugh. There was a familial camaraderie between them, like siblings or cousins of an age, caught making mischief together. Hawke was always picking up strays, and there were few more lost than the Knight-Captain.

"Cullen, if you'd excuse us," she said, and the Knight-Captain bowed to her and she nodded a reassurance at him before Cullen finally took his leave. Bran didn't miss the slight, but didn't pay mind to it. The templars would always dislike him.

When they were alone, she laughed a peal of merry tinkles as she looped her arms around his neck. "You took your time. I thought you were going to have kittens when you saw me with those awful de Launcet sisters."

"Greet me properly, Champion," he said, ignoring her laughter, though he was almost tempted to join in.

"Only if you do the same," Hawke said, but she was unbuttoning his doublet as she said it.

When the folds of his clothing were out of the way, she kissed his collarbone, her tongue flicking into the hollow of his throat. Bran's breath caught at the press of her lips against his skin, but the contact was so quick it was over before he could truly process it. She'd left her red lip stain on his collar, but was fixing his clothes before he could wipe it away.

"Wear my mark all night."

The command she gave was breathy, and really more of a question than a decree. When he nodded, she gave him the briefest kiss against his cheek, careful not to leave prints behind as she had on his neck. The place where she'd kissed burned under the fabric, the fiery imprint of her lips seared in red lip color.

There was a small patch of the stone wall near the balcony doors that were both shadowed and free from ivy. He pushed her up against the cool stone, and felt her sigh as the exposed parts of her upper back rested against the wall. Bran leaned and kissed her neck, not needing to be as careful as she'd been with him, nibbling up and down the length of it as he pressed up against her.

"Will you skip after dinner drinks and invite me to your manse?" she asked, and he stopped kissing her only long enough to ask why.

"Because I want to see you. It's been over a week, and I'm pleasantly surprised by the ardor of your greeting."

"You look beautiful tonight, Champion," Bran murmured, not to be distracted from his task. His tongue tasted like the powder she'd dusted over her skin.

"Nori. If you're kissing me like that, you should use my name." She shivered under his attentions, but leaned in to be closer to his touch. He wrapped an arm around her waist.

"What's the fun in that?" he asked, breathing into the shell of her ear.

"I still have your favors, seneschal," she reminded him.

"And you'd use one to spend the night with me?" he looked up just to see her face as he asked. She was shrouded in darkness, save for where a stripe of moonlight illuminated a section of her face. From where he stood her eyes glowed and her crimson lips curved up into a half smile, but he couldn't see much more of her expression.

"If I can't convince you now. There won't be time to talk after dinner, and we'll all have been served at least four courses of wine by then." She ran a gloved hand through his hair, and he almost didn't mind her mussing it. Bran dotted kisses along her jaw as she spoke.

"You're planning on getting drunk?" He resumed kissing down her neck and she sighed against his chest.

"Maker willing, yes," she said and he laughed his dry chuckle into the skin of her shoulder.

"I am obliged, but truly, you need not give up your favor for this. Just your templar. Leave before they serve the sherry, discard your templar and wait for my carriage," Bran said.

"Anything else, seneschal?" she asked, just as the gong for dinner sounded.

He pulled back from her with some reluctance, holding her hand up to his mouth to press a kiss into her gloved palm. "Feel free to change your dress, but leave your hair as it is."

She smiled as she walked past him back through the glass doors, but said nothing more.

He watched her all night, but that was to be expected. The dinner itself was normal, tedious. Full of hot air and boring conversation with people he normally tried to avoid when they came to the Viscount's Keep. Bran had a far better time trying to figure out what drinking game Hawke and the Knight-Captain were playing. Cullen was seated two seats to Bran's left, but the seneschal had a clear view of Nori directly across from Cullen. They were obviously playing some game that depended on the topic of conversation, because occasionally Bran would catch the two of them lifting their goblets simultaneously to take a sip after someone spoke.

If he hadn't been paying attention, Bran wouldn't have noticed. Cullen ate like an ox - a well-mannered ox, but still - packing away his food as it was set down in front of him. Did they not feed the templars over there in the Gallows? The serving maids were giving him sly smiles and extra large servings after just the first course. His drinking a lot would be in line with the way he ate, except that Hawke drank at the same times. She ate with a good deal less haste than her templar friend. Bran saw them pick up their wine at the same time when the price of spices was brought up at the table. Hawke's smile curved over her goblet.

Bran shot a smirk at her after she took another drink and she winked back at him. He was eagerly awaiting the moment when this dinner was over and he could take his leave. Since she'd asked to come to him that night, his mind had been distracted with all the things that they might do when left alone together for hours. They'd be fed and watered, with no distractions. He was looking forward to it.


	4. Chapter 4

Nori hadn't drank nearly as much wine as she'd guessed she would need to get through that dinner. It ended and the people were genial and well-fed, moving slowly towards two separate salons. There was brandy for the gentlemen, and a fine light bodied sherry for the ladies. After dinner was the time when more business was conducted, gossip was traded over small glasses while the room filled with lazy trails of smoke from cigars. Nori often declined this pleasure so as not to be besieged by requests. Even before she was Champion of Kirkwall there had been a stream of people trying to sidle up to her to ask for something had been great, and since she'd gained the honor that stream had become a deluge.

Cullen provided her a good excuse tonight, he had to be back to the dock so he could reach the Gallows before the last boat left. They left, she noticing that the seneschal was also making his excuses, though more slowly than she had. They walked into the cool night air, both she and Cullen sighing with relief at the ease of their escape. Not that the night hadn't been enjoyable in its way, but she was glad that it was over. She shivered and Cullen took her arm. He was always warm, and Nori wondered if that was a templar thing. She didn't bother to ask, because Cullen wouldn't answer.

The walk back to her house was short, Hightown was hardly the maze of alleys and dusty streets like the lower environs of the city. Nori was prepared to make a quick departure from Cullen and go on with her preparations to get to Bran, but her life was ever filled with the unexpected. Isabela was waiting for her when she got home. The pirate stood there, opening Nori's mail and talking to the dog as if it would talk back to her.

"Hawke, I've borrowed four sovereigns from this message, but I swear you'll get it back soon. Varric owes me," Isabela said as soon as she heard the door close.

"It's fine," Hawke answered.

"Captain Isabela," Cullen said, greeting her from the doorway. Isabela turned at the sound of her name and smiled.

"Knight-Captain. Enjoy the fancy dinner?"

"It was as to be expected, especially in Hightown," Cullen countered, still sounding polite and only slightly disdainful.

There was a beat of silence, where no one was talking and there was nothing to fill the air but the sound of the fire crackling. Nori was almost sleepy from all the wine, but the thought of seeing Bran had her jittery with anticipation. The memory of their earlier encounter made her absently stroke the side of her neck that he'd kissed. She had to get both Cullen and Isabela out of her house, so she too could leave.

"I've got to get out of this dress," Hawke announced, forestalling any further conversation. "Isabela, would you be so good as to get the Knight-Captain to the docks?" she asked.

"You bet I will," Isabela said, grinning at her.

Cullen held up a hand, "I don't require assistance, Isabela. It was good to see you again. Goodnight, Hawke." He made to leave, and Isabela caught up to him.

"Then maybe you could walk me home. Might be some trouble on the way. There's all sorts on the way from here to Lowtown," she said.

"And I'm sure you know them all," Cullen said, making Isabela laugh. That was the last Nori heard of them before the door shut behind them.

Whatever Isabela wanted would wait, Hawke decided. If there had been trouble Isabela wouldn't have left so swiftly. She didn't want to interrupt any conversation that she may or may not be having with the Knight-Captain. Nori had appointments of her own to keep. The seneschal's carriage would arrive shortly for her, and she wanted to be in her normal clothes.

Nori arrived at the seneschal's house a quarter of an hour later, and was greeted by Bran when she got out of the carriage. She had a feeling that he'd sent her servants away again for her visit. There was no one else present after the carriage driver and footman sped off; no one in sight but her and Bran. Once inside the door they shared a heated kiss, continuing what they started on the balcony earlier in the evening. Nori stood with her back against the wide wood door, pulling him to her. She felt the press of him up against her, the hardness of the wood at her back in contrast to the fiery heat of his malleable body.

He curved into her and devoured her lips with demanding kisses. Lips and tongue were no longer teased but tormented, and she thought that she might faint from breathlessness. That thought didn't stop her from kissing him with just as much desire, fingers hooked into the soft strands of his hair, making it impossible to completely pull apart. It was deserted in his house, and they made the only noise. Her whimpers echoed off the tiles, making color rise in her cheeks, but Bran liked the rebounding sound and kissed her again in the same way, eliciting the same desperate whisper. They might have stood there kissing for another hour or so, until her knees completely gave out, but Bran spoke.

"Come upstairs," he said, a growling whisper against the soft skin under her ear. She nodded, not trusting her voice. As he led her down the same deserted corridors they'd followed on her first visit, Nori wondered if Bran had any servants at all.

They went to his study, the same room where she'd posed for him before after their dinner. It was illuminated entirely by candlelight, save for the small fire burning in the grate. Where it had looked quite mundane before, tantalizing shadows danced across the room and the hue of the furniture was made richer by the golden light. He must have spent the whole time she was on her way to him to lighting candles around the room. It was warm but not oppressive, and the flicker of flames giving the room a dim, romantic glow. There was a white box on his drawing desk, but Nori couldn't tell anything about what might be in it from the flat, long shape.

"I have something for you," Bran told her, and she sat while he presented her with the white box.

It was not tied with a bow, but was a neat box with an insignia she recognized as one of the most exclusive dressmakers in Hightown. It was where she'd received an invitation to shop after Meredith had declared her Champion. The appointments were made months in advance, and she marveled at either Bran's ability to get favors or his foresight. She opened it, and inside was a garment. Pulling it out to examine it, she saw that it was a dressing gown made of fine silk, light and airy. It was a light pink color with grey flowers printed on it. The fabric flowed through her fingers like water. Nori looked up at Bran with a smile, and he unexpectedly returned it, losing his normal looked of practiced boredom for just one unguarded moment.

"For when I am not modeling for you?" she asked.

"I wouldn't wish you to catch cold in here. It would be especially negligent now that you're my muse," he said. "Take off your clothes."

"Have you decided to paint tonight?"

"Not tonight. But there is ink, and before I only sketched you in charcoals. I'd like to do it again, if you don't mind."

"So many sketches," Nori commented.

"I like to get things right, serah," Bran said, his tone bored as if he were stating the obvious. It made her smile.

She was a little nervous about disrobing and being started at, but swallowed it down. The warmth from the fire and somehow that lent her a measure of calm, reminded her of the allure of the idea. When it was just an idea, the prospect of being an artists model had spoken to something in her. There was delicious contrast in it, the boldness and grace of it all. She'd liked the thought of being nude while someone studied the curves and lines of her body. That idea still excited her. Nori's hands moved swiftly over the closures and fabric, her back to Bran. Papers were being shifted behind her. If he noticed her moment of hesitation, he didn't say anything.

This was more along the lines of what she'd expected, and her skin prickled with excitement at the prospect. She finished undressing, growing bolder as she shed more clothes, but Bran was busy with his desk when she was done.

"How do you want me to sit?" she asked.

He had her lay on one side, facing him with the pillows propping up her upper body. She was reclined, comfortable, but would have to hold her head up. He didn't touch her, except to rearrange her feet. A mild pang of disappointment swept through her as he retreated to his desk. For a moment, Nori envisioned his hands skimming up her leg, settling on the curve of her hip as he pressed his lips to her bare skin. At the door he'd been eager enough, pressing against her and cupping her breasts with roaming hands, but here, nude, he left her alone.

The night deepened around them, growing darker and colder as Nori lay there. Around them was complete silence, save for the fire and the scratch of Bran's quill. At first held herself rigid, but then she relaxed as time went on, muscles easing. It was boring to just sit, or rather to lay there posed like a doll. She sat for a long time while Bran said nothing.

"Are you going to talk this time?" she asked, her head growing heavy on the hand she'd slipped under it. Bran was silent for another minute before answering.

"I cannot fathom what you'd like to know about me. If you have questions, ask."

"Why aren't you Viscount?" she asked, going for the obvious first. His name had been put forward many, many times, but Bran himself always removed it.

"Because I find the visibility doesn't suit me, and I have no taste for the job," he said, looking up at her. "Don't squirm, serah."

"You aren't calling me by name again," she pointed out, but endeavored to move less as she spoke.

He sighed, but there was no true annoyance in it. "Nori, then. What happened to your right thigh?"

"Oh, um that." She looked downward without moving her head and then back up at him. "I got burned by a nasty fireball years ago." When he didn't respond, she went on, "I guess you don't see these kinds of scars on the people you paint."

"There are a few here and there, but nobles do not lead the life you do, Nori," Bran said, not lifting his eyes from his work. "You are no less exquisite because of a few marks."

Nori felt her whole body flush with the compliment, but otherwise wasn't sure how to respond. She kept her voice admirably steady as she ventured, "I haven't seen much of your son lately."

"He's not here to be seen. From his last letter, he was in Tantervale."

"What's he doing there?" she asked.

"Spending coin, mostly." Bran said snappishly, but then added, "but I am glad he is not in Kirkwall. Ever since the Qunari attack, I have feared for him."

It was an awful event, and the time since hadn't been much easier. Nori tried not to think of that fight with the Arishok, the way it had changed everything and still gripped the city in fear. The recovery of Kirkwall was slow, especially with no leader to take charge and direct the efforts. She still had nightmares of that fight, of the way she'd barely escaped being impaled on that lethal blade and how she didn't know if even her own greatsword and skills would be enough to save her life.

On those troubled thoughts she fell silent, and Bran said nothing more without prompting. Nori was tired from the wine and stuck in the same position while the candles burned down around them. She fell asleep there. He woke her and she slipped into the silk robe, then into his bed. Besides a kiss goodnight, nothing more passed between them until dawn.

#

His wrist was in pain from overuse, and Bran woke up stretching unconsciously to ease it. He hadn't meant to do so much the night before, but he had been inspired. It was a strange feeling to be so prolific after such a long dry spell, but that was the way of things. The wrist in question often hurt, for he did much writing during the days. He got out of bed and went into the adjoining washroom, chuckling to himself as he glanced in the looking glass and saw the smudged red remains of Nori's lip marks from the night before still adorning his neck. A damp cloth had most of it off, though his pale skin held onto a hint of the deep pigment. He would wear her mark for more than just one night.

Quiet times were his favorite times, and mornings were chief among them. There were people all around, but he would not be able to tell if he did not already know. The door to his bedroom opened silently and an elf stepped in, laden with a breakfast tray made for two. When he saw Bran already out of bed, he set down the tray on the table, bowed and left the room just as soundlessly as he'd entered. Sheer drapes were drawn around his four poster bed, letting in the light but preserving Nori's modesty from any eyes other than his.

The pale pink silk looked marvelous against the warm ochre bronze of her skin. Pity she slept in the robe at all, bunching the fine silk into wrinkles already. He should buy her a nightgown, and some suitable smallclothes, but Bran then reprimanded himself for the thought. She was not Serendipity, who took such gifts as part of her trade, nor his lover. The robe was practical, given the work together. Anything more than that, Bran would need to ask her about, make sure that any such gifts would be accepted.

Maybe it was the early morning light filtered through the hangings of his bed, or the smell of food, but she woke up yawning not long after he'd finished his ablutions. He was dressing when she called out for him, his name sleepy and quieter than he'd heard it in some time. It was a good thing that she was awake, he hadn't wanted to eat alone this morning. He liked the look of her in the morning light, so vivid compared to the candlelight from the night before. Bran finished buttoning his shirt as he wished her a good morning. When she didn't respond right away, he went to the bed and opened the curtains.

"Good morning," she said, pulling herself up into a sitting position.

"Time will tell on that account, I am sure."

She grimaced at him. "Are you always so cheery?" she asked. He ignored the comment.

"There is tea and food here, if you'd like any," he said.

Nori nodded at him, but then excused herself while he settled at the table. Bran took the time while she was gone to open a vial of healing potion and chase the taste away with his tea. When she rejoined him, her face was free from the vestiges of her cosmetics, hair braided and slung over a shoulder and the robe was straightened with the sash in a loose bow holding it closed.

After all of her questions both times she sat for him, Bran expected her to be talkative. He wouldn't have minded but he liked her silence more. She sat across from him and aside from wondering where he'd gotten orange from at this time of year and to marvel at the quality of bacon, Nori said little. There was no conversation, but a companionable silence that made him feel comfortable with her.

"Should you like to stay and sleep until later, my carriage will be ready for you whenever you want to leave," he said, getting up from the table.

"What? You're leaving? I thought you would paint this morning."

"Champion, I have to go to work."

"There's no business today, the Keep is closed," she said, frowning at him.

"Which makes it the perfect time to do paperwork," Bran countered, and she shook her head at him.

"It's barely past dawn. You can be late at least."

"I'm already later than planned, though I don't regret it. Our repast was enjoyable."

Nori got up, still shaking her head at him. He watched her muscled legs as they slid in and out of view, exposed by the slight slit in the robe. "Where are my clothes?" she asked.

Her simple, yet reluctant acquiescence to his request brought on a slight feeling of discordant shame. He wanted her here, he really did, but couldn't express it or understand why he wanted her. It wasn't something he wanted to take the time to examine, but he acted on it. Nori was just reaching the overstuffed armchair where her clothes had been folded from the night before, and Bran closed the distance between them in a few quick strides. He slid an arm around her waist just as she untied the sash, resulting in him holding it mostly in place. The front hung down limply as she turned to face him.

"Marlowe's death has left so much..." he trailed off, unsure how to finish the statement, holding back another surge of emotion he hadn't expected.

She placed a hand on his face, cupping his cheek. Her hand was rough and warm, the gesture more soothing than Bran would have expected. "I understand."

Then she kissed him, because apparently she did understand even if he didn't. She tasted like tea and oranges, sweet with just a little tartness. It was meant to be a balm, a soothing kiss, comforting. It was. The kiss as she gave it was chaste, soft, caressing. His hand slid toward her hip, and as it did skimmed the scar on her side. The very long scar he'd only vaguely seen by candlelight, which was now exposed in the morning sun. She didn't step back from him, but stiffened and broke their kiss.

The scar ran from just under her breast to her hip. It wasn't a very deep scar, it had no exit wound, but it was long, jagged and painful looking. Bran knew it, because he had seen her when she got it. It was the only time he'd ever seen her fight, though he knew that was how she'd made her fortune. Across the rest of her body was a map of scars, some faded and tended, others less so. But this one under his fingers, raised and puffy and forever, was from the Arishok.

When she moved back, about to turn away and start dressing, Bran pulled her closer. He kissed her, not in the way she'd just kissed him, but in the way he'd wanted to since long before she'd gotten that scar. It was the way he'd tried to kiss her twice the night before, and both times had stopped himself. It was heat and flame and lust as he laid claim to her lips, demanding tribute.

The robe he'd gotten her slid from her shoulders to pool on the floor behind her, and he finally got to touch the skin he'd only been able to admire in the dim light the previous night. Norina Hawke was more lovely up close than she was falling asleep at a distance in his study. Calloused hands, warm and strong held onto him, pulling him deeper into their kiss. Muscles flexed under her skin and he could feel the delicious strength of her in every movement. She was much, much stronger than he, though just seeing her clothed would give little indication of her true physique. Were she to pick him up and throw him over her shoulder like a heathen barbarian warrior, he would be powerless against her. The thought sent heat straight to his groin.

He'd noticed before that Nori kissed with enthusiasm, but inelegance. It was almost charming, her lack of practice at it, and Bran liked leading their kisses. She was responsive, meeting the forays of his tongue with a gusto that filled him with heat. They were headed towards the bed, him steering with a hand on her lower back. Deft hands had unbuttoned his shirt and unlaced his trousers. Bran was very nearly naked but was rendered less mobile for it. Nori was quicker than he realized and her hand was closing around his hardened cock before he could make it onto the bed. He held the frame instead as she freed it from its confines under his trousers and then pushed his clothes out of her way as she dropped to her knees.

He hadn't been expecting this. In fact, he'd been hoping to avoid it for some time. Recently, and some times not as recently, there had been some trouble finishing on his part. Serendipity was aware that it wasn't unwillingness, but rather the cumulative effect of long days of work in the wake of the qunari attack. He didn't know why precisely he'd stopped functioning, just that he had and embarrassment was close at hand.

Until that moment came, he was enjoying her. Nori was far more skilled at this particular kind of pleasure than kissing, which indicated a lack of relationships of any real duration. That thought was fleeting, as her tongue slid along the underside of his length and Bran couldn't suppress his moan. He closed his eyes, letting his hips roll slightly as she alternated her approach, sucking and licking, then lapping at the head of his cock. Bran gripped the wood post of his bed, all thoughts an incoherent jumble. He tangled his other hand in her loose braid, not guiding her but just holding on.

It was like pulling on a thread that leads to catastrophic unravelling. She continued stroking him with both hands and mouth, when he felt himself veering closer towards the end. There was either orgasm in his future or a more likely limp humiliation, and Bran wanted to disengage himself before either happened. But he didn't, and his climax came on him like a sudden summer storm, and before he knew it he was limp and panting, a fine sheen of sweat covering his face as languor spread like molasses through him.

Nori laughed as she kissed him, and almost batted away his renewed attempts to lead her to the bed, but succumbed to the kisses he liberally showered down her neck, shoulders and back. Bran felt her shiver under his lips as he kissed the top of her spine, and when he nudged her towards the open curtains near his side of the bed, she obliged his wordless demands.

There were many things Bran liked. He liked having the upper hand with the appearance of parity. He liked being in control and seducing a willing partner with a studied precision and grace. None of those applied in this instance, whatever it was he was doing with Nori, and it was starting to get him. The Champion had approached him at first, and then again the night before. She'd given him pleasure, brought him to a shuddering climax when even Serendipity hadn't been able to coax one from him in weeks. This wasn't going to stand. There were standards of his own to maintain. With this in his mind, he shucked the rest of his clothes and lay down on the bed with her. He was not going to pretend like he'd be able to fuck her now, but he wasn't going to let her leave without hearing his name moaned at least once. It was only fair.

He clambered into his own bed on shaking limbs, still overwhelmed but determined. Bran kissed her neck again, feeling her sigh as he did, but didn't linger. Her breasts weren't overly large, but bigger than he'd expected on her muscular frame. As he palmed one, she arched into the movement, and he correctly interpreted her desire. Bran was rewarded with a soft moan when he took the peak of her breast into his mouth and sucked, flicking the tip with his tongue until it beaded hard in his mouth. While she was concentrating on his mouth, he trailed his fingers over her stomach and then further down. Where her skin wasn't scarred it was buttery soft, as if she bathed in oil.

A finger danced lower and lower until he was idly raking the dark curls that covered her cunt. A little more exploration told him that she was already a little wet, probably more anticipation than excitement from sucking his cock, but he could work with it. He dipped his finger inside of her and out again, slowly, feeling her warmth as his mouth sucked on her other breast. She wasn't saying his name quite yet, but her moaning and whimpering was becoming steadily more voluble, flowing into a litany of not quite words and sighs.

Bran's finger was making steady progress at making her wetter, but he knew his tongue could do better. Abandoning her nipple with a wet kiss, he slid between her legs and took a pause to look. Slick folds were growing puffy with desire, and Bran kissed them with surprising tenderness before sticking his tongue down the center and licking upwards earning his first victory when his name came out as a strangled cry. "Bran." Then she said it again, and told him not to stop. He would be remiss if he didn't oblige.

She guided him, threading her fingers in his hair as he licked her, pinching her nipple with her free hand. He teased her pearl into hardness, just as he had with her nipple, then sucked on it until she ground her hips against his face and nearly suffocated him. His fingers went back into her delicious velvet heat, drawing in and out with increasing pace as her need grew. Nori was close; he could taste it.

Then she shattered, all heat and anguished cries muffled by the clasp of strong thighs around his head. Bran closed his eyes, but heard his name again and again, spilling from her lips as if she were compelled to say nothing else until she finished. When she stopped bucking and merely shook she released him from the vice of her thighs and laughed shakily as she enveloped him in her arms. He was half hard again as he kissed her, and she rubbed up against his bare chest like a cat.

They didn't linger in bed, though he would have liked to do so, just once. Bran didn't hurry her out by any means, but she stood and was dressing even before he'd sat up. She was smiling at him after they were all finished and he led her into his carriage. Smiling at him like a lover, or someone more than he was, but Bran couldn't find it in him to care in the moment. His whole day had been better because of her, from the stroke of midnight when she'd been falling asleep by candlelight in his study.

"You're like an alley cat," Bran commented when she kissed him as soon as the carriage doors closed. Nori threw back her head and laughed.

"If I am an alley cat, then I've found another in you."

Bran thought about it, then decided that she might be right about that. He twitched her braid out of the bun she'd hastily stuffed it into and kissed the back of her neck. A hand gripped his thigh and then they were lost, a sly hand teasing the nipples he'd just kissed, as if they hadn't just left the bed together. It was a short-lived interlude however, since the Amell estate wasn't far from his house by any means.

"I'll send word," Nori said, getting ready to get out of the carriage.

"Champion, I've a busy schedule. Make sure you send it well in advance," Bran told her.

She winked at him and then was gone, alighting from his carriage without backwards glance. It was mid-morning in Hightown, even on a sleepy Sunday and people were out. He was hours late for his work, but couldn't find it in him to regret the delay.

#

There was nothing that wasn't impressive about the façade to Hawke's home. It had grown more stately over the years, once the repairs had been made and the status of the Amell family had risen once again. The stone around it was clean, with no stain of weather or undue amount of wear, and the flowers around it were in the early stages of blooming into their great and showy colors. So it was strange that there were a collection of letters outside it, some obviously old enough to have been rained on. Aveline picked them up and examined the outsides. They were unread, but yet Bodhan hadn't taken them inside. She wondered why.

She rang the bell a second time, still holding onto the bundle of letters. Aveline stood outside of Hawke's estate waiting for someone to come to the door. When it was finally opened, Hawke herself stood on the other side.

"Aveline!" Hawke sounded pleased to see her, which always made Aveline suspicious.

"You're opening your own door now? Did you miss it or is there some other reason?" Aveline asked.

Hawke waved her inside. "Bodahn and Sandal went to the market and Orana is off today. At least I gave her the day off, I think she's just in her room. But if I don't answer the door, she will, and that defeats the point of a day off," Nori explained.

"Doesn't she leave the estate?" Aveline asked, immediately concerned for Orana.

"Sometimes she goes to the Chantry, but usually very early." Nori shrugged. "I don't know if she goes many other places than that."

Aveline said nothing more as she followed Hawke into the house. They were in the library, but Aveline didn't bother to ask who they were. She had a good idea she knew that it would be Isabela and at least one other, since they were doing nothing much at all that day. There was no real indication that Hawke used her library for reading, but rather just the storing of books and wine. She only stopped in the doorway of the room to look over at Hawke's overburdened desk and sighed.

"I guess giving you these letters I found outside will just cause them to be lost on your desk," she said.

"Oh are those the poison quill notes? Bodahn was leaving them out so whomever sent them knew they weren't being read. You can just drop them on the desk, since you've got them." Nori went back to where she'd been sitting before, sharing her chaise with Merrill.

The night before, Isabela had come over to give word that Varric had gotten his hands on some very expensive and mostly legal port, well the port itself was legal to have, just not to buy. However he'd come into its possession, Varric now had a case which meant that Isabela was also in possession of some of said port. The bottle that Isabela had brought over to share was now less than half full, but Varric had seen to it that Nori had her own bottle, and delivered by a courier instead of Isabela. It was on standby.

Isabela had come back the next afternoon with Merrill in tow. They'd all decided that getting drunk in the middle of a Sunday was far better than actually doing things. Being productive every day was exhausting and highly overrated. Though not a weekly occurrence, they did lounge on Sundays more than any other day. It was Aveline's day off from the guard as well, and she'd come by out of armor, for once, and ready to spend some time with her friends.

Curious about the letters she held, Aveline began to open them, once Hawke waved approval at her. Nori didn't seem to care overmuch about the notes, but Aveline's gut twisted after opening the first. It was a note calling Hawke a failure, and comparing her unfavorably to Gamlen. While rude and malicious, it wasn't criminal. More notes revealed much of the same language, a few accusing Hawke of being a mage like Bethany, and another holding Hawke responsible for Leandra's death. No wonder they'd been left outside.

The newer notes grew much more vicious, attacking Nori's image (keep your insultingly ugly face hidden beneath a helm), reputation (Fereldan whore of Hightown) and then threatening her. First by saying that the anonymous letter writers could prove she'd been colluding with the Qunari, then by threatening to do bodily harm to the Champion before outright killing her. Chills from reading the hateful letters made Aveline shiver, set her mouth into a grim line. Around her no one noticed that she was still reading, Isabela laughing as she told a story.

"So then Cullen looks right up at me and whispers, 'will you make sure this never goes in one of Varric's books?'" Isabela said, mimicking the Knight-Captain, and reducing Hawke and Merrill to snorts of laughter.

"What did you tell him?" Merrill asked.

"I told the sweet thing that it would never make it into print, he could be sure of that. But only because he really is the sweetest," Isabela said.

"I'm so glad to know he made it back to the Gallows in one piece, even if it was a few hours later than planned," Hawke said. "He wasn't having much fun at the party last night." Aveline picked up the pieces she'd missed, suppressing a sigh at the realization that Isabela had managed to bed the Knight-Captain. She tried to forget the information as soon as she'd figured it out.

"You went out with Cullen last night?" Aveline asked, thinking back to the letters.

"Yeah, we went to that terrible dinner at Lady Dinelle's house last night," Hawke said. She took a pastry off a tray filled with food and ate it, washing it down with a swig from a bottle that was being passed around. Merrill took the bottle from Hawke and hiccuped.

"He didn't notice these letters?"

"Well, I don't know. He didn't mention them. It was after dark when he got here," Hawke said, waving her hand at Aveline. "It's nothing, Aveline. I get poison quill notes all the time."

"These aren't nothing. Some of these are death threats. Serious sounding death threats and accusations of you doing blood magic. Hawke, I've got to investigate. If I don't then the templars might get wind of this and start their own investigation."

Isabela looked up when Aveline mentioned death threats. "What do those say?" she asked.

"A lot of hateful nonsense for the most part, but a few describe killing Hawke in creative ways. Be on your guard, all of you. I don't like this," Aveline said.

Hawke got up and walked over to the desk, taking out more letters. She actually looked a little worried, but it was hard to tell with her. Drinking made her more expressive than usual, but Hawke held her emotions close most of the time. She was an excellent Wicked Grace player when she wasn't drinking, which was why Varric was always buying her drinks.

"Here then, take the lot of them. If you're going to look into them, here they are. I burned the first few, but then it didn't seem worth the effort."

Aveline took the bundle and put them with the rest. Then she strode over to the tray and picked up a strawberry. They all watched her for a moment before Hawke lay back down on the chaise and looked up at the ceiling as she announced, "I'm going to have amazing sex with a regrettable person that can't end well."

"What's regrettable about this person then?" Merrill asked, looking very interested. Isabela was too, but hiding a little better.

"Nearly everything except the sex," Nori said with a sigh. "And I think it's going to be so very excellent. They're very good at kissing."

Both Isabela and Merrill pressed for more information, talking over each other with questions and guesses. Hawke was smiling up at the ceiling, but Aveline frowned. "This isn't the Knight-Captain is it?" she asked.

"Oh Maker, no. That's all Bela," Hawke answered.

"No, that's all Knight-Commander Meredith's, poor thing," Isabela countered. "Whether he likes it or not."

Aveline made up her mind to talk to Cullen about the party the night before, the threatening letters, who Nori's new lover might be and to check in on Bethany. Seemed like she'd be going to the Gallows as soon as she had the time. But for now, she was here with her friends on her day off, and Aveline sat down in a chair she pulled over. Isabela leaned over and handed her the bottle they were drinking out of, and Aveline sniffed cautiously and then took a tentative sip. Isabela beamed at her.


	5. Chapter 5

The Council meetings for the city-state were held every single week. Bran was obliged to go, as were the magistrates. It was the meetings on the first of the month that were most important, but they met at the same time, every week. Truly, he didn't mind the meetings as much as say, any frustrated newcomer to the city, the guards that attended, the guard-captain or any number of what Bran liked to think of as the uninitiated. They were people that just didn't know the order of business of the city, the subtle way things were said and stated, how Kirkwall just worked or didn't in some cases.

Whatever the city business, it wasn't enough to keep Bran's mind occupied. He floated through the meeting that week, doling out his bored, wan smile more than usual. There were people in and out of his office all day, templars posturing and unsuitable nobles vying for the position of Viscount. He played his part, but it didn't keep his interest or frustrate him the way it normally did. Much of his mind was occupied with far more compelling thoughts.

He was still waiting for the note she'd promised to send. There had been word, but no promise of a meeting or any hint of when he would see her again. He had no idea of where Nori was, or what she might be doing. All he knew was what he felt in his hand, the thing she had sent him instead of word of another rendezvous. Bran was now in possession of three coins that said "Norina Hawke, Lady Amell" on one side and the other "The Champion of Kirkwall". He was quite sure that no one but the owner had ever held these favors. They'd come with a card that had her name embossed on one side and a lip print of deep crimson on the other. No note, but he didn't need one.

Bran thought of that her when he went to the Keep in the mornings, held the coins in the palm of his hand during his meetings, kept the card on his vanity. Days passed with no further word. He needed a distraction, and Bran felt it keenly after one particularly grueling day of work that ended well after the sun had set.

That evening he was restless, and unable to concentrate on work. Lack of concentration in most jobs could cause some small mishap or utter calamity. In his, it was always more work for himself. Bran didn't want to ruin some correspondence with the wrong names or fail to check every single detail. He didn't want to leave the Keep, but he knew he couldn't stay. There was a place that was distracting enough and not his home where he would retire. They called it a club, and he was a member, but it was nothing more than a gaming hell. It was however, the best one in Kirkwall, a place that had seen many illicit gambling houses come and go.

He refused the late repast that was waiting for him at home, dressed accordingly in some of his best finery and found himself in the midst of all of it within a half hour of leaving the Keep. Music and the din of many voices blended into nonsense greeted him when he stepped from his carriage into the doorway. The doorman nodded at him and let him through without a word. Within a few steps Serendipity was at his side.

"I hadn't realized you were working tonight," Bran said, sliding an arm through hers. Serendipity raised an eyebrow at him, surprised. She looked resplendent in a brown velvet gown. He'd taken her out of that dress before.

"It's Thursday, seneschal. You know I keep a regular schedule."

"So you do. I seem to have lost track. I don't require company tonight, however. If you've paying customers, you should get to them while I see if they're serving a late dinner," he said. For some reason it made Serendipity laugh.

"I'm sure they'll always serve it up for you, if you ask nicely enough," she said, cackling with laughter at a meaning Bran didn't grasp.

"Serendipity," he began, but she was slipping out of his arm and away from him before Bran could even think what he meant to ask her. It didn't bother him; Bran was used to it.

He couldn't face Serendipity in a more intimate setting at the moment. His desires resided too steadily with Norina to welcome even Serendipity's excellent company. The dining room was mostly empty when he got there, it was late enough that the gaming tables were the main draw, not the food. Of course there was always conversation, and company not of a particular sort that was provided by the brothel. People flocked to the gaming hell to lose their money as soon as it was in hand, but he really was just there for the food, noise and distraction. Bran had always been jealous of their chef; whomever it was prepared dinners that were far superior than anything even his own cook could provide.

The place itself was once one of the grander estates in Hightown, but had been lost after the family title fell into abeyance. The heir sold the building as it was falling into disrepair and she had neither the funds nor the inclination to fix it. Marlowe had been loathe to let the sale of the property happen, but he didn't try to stop it. It was a lucky thing he hadn't. The buyer made a private club like Kirkwall had never known.

There were clubs, and then there was 'The Prodigal's Return'. It was lavishly furnished, filled with pretty hosts of all sorts and had a waiting list long enough to reach Orlais and back. Bran had other memberships, but he hardly utilized them since The Prodigal had opened about fifteen years back. He wondered if Nori had ever been. He didn't know if she was a member of any of the clubs, though she would have surely been invited. One night he might bring her as his guest, but then Bran sighed away that thought. They weren't courting, and he would do well to remember that.

"Seneschal," a voice nearby called and Bran looked over. The owner was Lord Landley, the eldest son of the magistrates. "Care to join me?" Landley gestured to his own table, all the seats vacant but for his own.

He was just thinking that he might prefer to lose some coin rather than sit and eat alone when he was saved from such a fate. There was nothing stopping him from eating with Landley, and he was weary of his own company. Still, Bran hesitated, but then Landley smiled.

"I promise not to bend your ear all night about business, and I've only just put in my order. Could use a bit of company."

Landley was a decent enough, if somewhat boring fellow. His father held onto his seat so tightly, Bran wondered if the eldest Landley didn't want his son to have it or whether he just liked the power. Either way, there was no harm in eating with the son.

"My thanks, Lord Landley," Bran said.

In the end they talked of nothing but business, but at least it was Landley's merchant affairs and not city business. Bran's family still worked in the trade, and he knew a fair deal about it himself. Landley was keen to hear his opinions, but didn't delve into talk too serious. It was pleasant enough, and with his bacon and egg pie, made for a less lonely dinner. Bran would just have to wait to see what news of Norina the morning would bring.

#

All he was missing was a pair of glasses to let slide down his nose as he read the notes. Varric was examining the letters Aveline had taken from Hawke, and every so often he'd look up at her and shake his head but not say anything. She'd felt the same way when she'd first read them. They were disturbing and promising of some danger to come.

After a while the shuffling of paper stopped, and Aveline waited for Varric to say something. Fenris had been there when she arrived, and he was waiting too. Though he hadn't read the notes, she'd explained what they were and he was willing to aid her in tracking down the author. That was good, because Aveline worried that she couldn't really trust her regular guards with an investigation of this nature.

Sure, her guards were good and getting better all the time. They took pride in what they did, and there were more of them now than when she came on as guard-captain. But there were never enough of them, especially not after the Qunari attack. Both her guards and the templars had lost many people and rebuilding both at the same time, from the same population pool was difficult. Aveline knew what her guards would do with these notes. They'd chase down any leads they could, then let it go so they could get back to working on real crimes that needed solving. Things like this she usually took to Hawke, but she didn't want that to happen. Hawke obviously thought they weren't serious, and treated them so. Alerting the letter writer that they were being investigated might just be what they need to go forward with some of their threats.

"Well, shit. This needs to be taken care of, and quickly," Varric said, putting down the last note. He had them spread out in front of him, laying each down as he read it. They made an awful picture on the table. The word DIE was underlined in several of the notes, the only word to stand out among them.

"I agree," Aveline said. "I thought the best place to start was to check to make sure only one Hawke was getting these kinds of notes."

Fenris bristled visibly at the notion of both Hawke and Bethany getting threatening letters. Aveline saw his regard for the younger Hawke rear its head from time to time, but it was respect rather than something more. Sometimes she wished Fenris was interested in having more with anyone, but that was just her worrying too much about her friends again. Donnic told her not to pry, but that didn't mean she couldn't encourage where she saw interest.

There was no time for such thinking. Varric quickly passed the notes back to Aveline, and both he and Fenris rose and armed themselves. She was glad that they were with her, she had a feeling that she'd need them both. Troubles with Hawke tended to get very messy, very fast.

"Was Hawke even worried about this?" Varric asked as they left the Hanged Man.

"She thought they were just poison pen notes. The older ones she stuck back outside thinking that if they saw them not being read, they would just stop," Aveline said.

"Yes, the first few were merely rude instead of murderous," Varric muttered.

"An important distinction," Fenris said. "Aveline, what do we do if Bethany's also getting these notes? The templars aren't going to just let you investigate."

"I am the Guard-Captain and this is a city matter. If Meredith can't see that, I'm not sure how I'll investigate, but I will try to keep Bethany safe in any case," Aveline said.

When they got to the Gallows, it was after midday. Gulls swooped low overhead, cawing as they flew by dropping their waste on the unsuspecting below. The sun had warmed the stone until it was hot beneath enough beneath their feet that she could feel it through her armor. She stole a glance at Fenris and didn't see him react to the heat. Upon explaining their arrival to the Knight-Captain, he looked alarmed but was reluctant to let them all in to see Bethany.

"Enchanter Bethany is not allowed visitors right now. Those rules cannot bend." he said.

"This isn't a visit, it's an investigation," Aveline started her protest, but Varric jumped in.

"Knight-Captain, you're mentioned in some of the notes. They paint an unflattering portrait of Hawke's friendship with you."

The Knight-Captain colored red, going stiff with indignation. "I would not see Hawke suffer untoward accusations about our friendship." He put a stress on the word friend, as if he could prove it was just friendship by asserting it strongly enough.

"We know that, but this note writer doesn't, which means that they've been watching Hawke. Why not the Gallows as well? Not all messages to the Circle go through official channels, you know that. These notes to Hawke were something else, and I've seen some shit. If you or Bethany are being harassed, we're just looking to find out by whom. It could be a matter of Circle security, you know," Varric said. By the time he was finished talking, Cullen was nodding.

"All right, I shall send for her. My assistant is one of the tranquil. He will know if I have been getting any strange messages." Cullen motioned for them to follow him into the Gallows proper and out of the yard.

He sent for Bethany with a word to one of the knights on their way in. One of the Knight-Lieutenants took his place wordlessly, watching over the entrance to the Gallows through the slit in his helmet. Aveline saw Varric look back as she had, but Fenris never turned around. Cullen bade them all to sit, offered them refreshments and then left the room.

Bethany arrived not long after Cullen had left, looking older and yet the same as the last time Aveline had seen her. Her sleek black bob had a few strands of grey in it, giving her an air of serious gravitas, but she smiled as she entered the room and saw Aveline. When she looked around and saw Varric and Fenris, her smile faltered.

"Oh no. No, no, no. Has something happened to Nori?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"Don't worry, Sunshine, your sister is still up to no good. We're here to see you," Varric said, reassuring her with both words and a smile.

Fenris went to stand next to her, and when Bethany looked up at him, he nodded his confirmation to Varric's words. Her visible relief made Aveline's stomach clench. She should visit more often. If and when Bethany was allowed visitors, Aveline vowed to drag Hawke along with her.

"We're trying to keep it that way," Aveline said. "Has anything strange happened to you recently?" she asked, beginning by not mentioning the notes.

Bethany shook her head. "Nothing at all. The Circle is the same as it has been for the past year or so."

"Hawke's been getting letters, not nice ones," Varric said. "We just wanted to check to make sure that they hadn't made their way here too."

"No, I haven't had any letters or anything else. It's all just study here," Bethany shrugged, barely moving the heavy velvet of her robes with the motion. "Is that it? Did you all really come all the way here to ask about some letters?"

"Hawke was ignoring them, thinking they were just poison pen notes. Maybe they were, at first." Aveline rolled her head from side to side, trying to loosen the knot at the base of her neck. "The last few wanted her to die in creative ways," Aveline said.

"So you can understand our concern," Varric said. "We just wanted to make sure you weren't also getting threatened."

"But there hasn't been anything here, at all," Bethany said, looking around at all of them. "I'm sorry, I almost wish there had been if it would help."

Aveline waved a hand at her. "We're glad there's been nothing, that narrows down the suspects in a way." It made Aveline's suspicion that someone was actively watching Hawke solidify. She'd need to be more careful.

Bethany left and Cullen re-entered the room. He'd been listening outside, but Aveline didn't care that he'd eavesdropped. She would have if the situations were reversed. The purple shadows under his eyes seemed even deeper when she looked right at him. Cullen was a young man, but this place was eating him up.

"Bethany hasn't been getting any letters," Varric told him. "At least not ones that are unwelcome."

"I have," Cullen said, and spread three sheets of parchment on the desk in front of him. "These have the date of receipt in the corner."

"And you thought not to look into them?" Fenris asked. He wasn't leaning on the desk, but standing back with his arms crossed, glaring at Cullen.

"They were never brought to my attention. They are not threats at all, or anything against me or the Order, so they were filed away. We get many angry letters, as you can imagine."

Cullen was looking through a smaller bound book, and found what he was looking for because he laid it next to the notes and pointed at a space. "Here. This is the date of a dinner I attended with Hawke, and the first note came a week later. This is when they started coming." More rifling through his diary revealed that the other dates matched up roughly. They were within a week of him going out with Hawke.

"You went out with Hawke recently to some dinner, the night before I picked up the notes," Aveline said. "So you're due for one soon. Can you let me know when you get one?"

"Of course."

Aveline took the notes up and put them with the others. They'd said more awful things about Hawke, but all of them were just malicious. She, Varric and Fenris walked out in silence. She would have to think about their next move.

#

The bath water was too warm, making steam swirl around the room and sweat prickle on her forehead. She didn't mind it, but there was no hurry for her to get into the bath. Nori lowered herself in carefully, one limb at a time, until she was mostly submerged in the hot water. It smelled like lavender, because she'd dumped half a cup of oil scented salts into it.

It was with herself that she was out of patience, her nerves jangly and oversensitive. That was part of the reason for the bath. But she needed to get rid of the scent of his bed and feeling of the seneschal's hands on her, needed something to dim the memories. She could still taste his skin and feel the press of his mouth against hers, hear the low hiss he made has he'd climaxed. Every thought was tinged with him, and it had been overwhelming since the Sunday morning they'd spent together.

Under the water it was easier to pretend that her fingers were his, thin and blunt and so sure. That was the thing she liked most about Bran, he was always so sure when he did things, when he answered. He was certain of himself, a characteristic Nori found refreshing. Bran was always the same bastard he'd been, with a pervy eye and unhelpful disposition. She shouldn't like it as much as she did, but it was honest in a city filled with artifice.

Ugh, this wasn't going to work. She couldn't feel the same way when she touched herself, and it was difficult to build up the enthusiasm. They should have just slept together when they had the chance, and damn his work at the Keep. Now she was caught up in her own frustration and bruised to hell and back with a rolled ankle. Bran had already seen all of her scars, but she wasn't going over there like this. They weren't lovers, there was no care or sweetness in their arrangement, so damn if Nori was going to go over there looking anything less than her best.

Nori needed to get out of the bath, otherwise she might actually die of boredom. The mass of bruises that was once her left side still ached, and her ankle needed to be wrapped up. She dried off quickly, snappish and angry at no one in particular. With no one around to vent her spleen upon, she just wound herself up more. There was no way she was going out to find another fight, though she sorely wanted one. She slumped about her house, searching for a healing poultice to put on her side, but came up with nothing.

That chose her destination for her. She would go see Anders. Maybe even work in his clinic and see if she could get some potions out of him. First she went to the kitchen to find some food to take with her, packing up what was left of a wheel of cheese and the buns from the morning. That would do for a quick dinner for Anders. She collected up the glass vials that she had littering her house, a surprising number of them, and went down through her cellar to the sewers.

Anders was working, as he always was. She wondered if the people of Kirkwall ever let him sleep. There was another man helping him, an elf that she sometimes saw in Lowtown. Nori nodded at him, showed herself into the small private room Anders used for sleeping and set down the food. Anders looked up as she exited, and she went over to him to reveal the collection of vials she was returning.

"I need to be put to work," she said. It was more of a demand, but Anders took it in stride.

"What's going on, Hawke?" Anders asked as he led her over to a slowly bubbling pot. It was too thick to be a potion and had the sharp, green scent of elfroot rising from it in slow curls.

"I'm just hurt and bored," she said. There was no way she was explaining more than that to Anders. Sexual frustration wasn't something she discussed with him, healer or not.

"Do you need healing?" he asked, raising his hands. Before she could object, he summoned his power and she felt her bruises begin to ache less under her skin. Her ankle felt stronger. Anders pulled back, taking the warmth and scent of lyrium with him.

"The bruises aren't going to heal completely for a day or so. Just rest and rub some salve into them. Take a jar when you're finished here." He handed her a large wooden spoon and pointed at his motley collection of empty glass jars.

She nodded, accepted her task and got lost in it for some time. The monotony was soothing. Her mind wandered on past Bran, to wondering what her friends were doing. Aveline promised to look into the notes, but Hawke wasn't sure it was worth her time. They were just mean notes, and it wasn't anything that wasn't yelled at her when she walked down the street from time to time. Thinking about Aveline made her recall their last parting, when she'd been drinking in the library with Merrill and Isabela. Nori smiled unconsciously. They didn't have enough good times these days.

"You the Champion of Kirkwall?" An old woman asked, her Ferelden accent heavy with loathing.

"Yeah, that's me," Nori answered.

"They said you killed the Qunari cause you a mage," the woman said.

"No, my sister's the mage and she's locked up in the Gallows. I'm just really fucking good at killing things. The giant sword isn't for show," Nori said, her temper getting the better of her.

"Hawke," Anders cautioned for the other side of the room.

There was a pause, but then the woman laughed and left her alone. When she got back to where she'd been sitting with a girl Anders had healed earlier, she smiled again at Hawke. The pair left not soon after, and the elf working with Anders departed with a few coins for his assistance. Nori went back to what she was doing, spooning out the salve and putting it into little glass jars. Annoyance made her movements more jerky than they had been, and she had to keep smoothing the salve down into the oddly shaped jars. Anders sidled over after he'd finished with his last patient.

"That woman didn't mean anything, Hawke," Anders said, quiet but not chiding. Nori still bristled.

"Someone's been sending me death threats that accuse me of doing blood magic," she whispered. She wasn't sure why she was whispering. The few people in with them were either sleeping or no longer of the living.

"Probably wasn't that woman, because I'm fairly certain she can't read or write. Since when?"

"I get all kinds of notes, all the time, so I'm not sure when it started exactly. I stopped reading them when they get weird. At first they were just poison pen notes about me being a greedy slut or whatever, which I can't say isn't true. I just starting leaving them uncollected, and I thought they'd stop sending them. Aveline picked up the bundle outside my house and read a few of them to me before she took them. They got worse."

Anders grabbed her hand, his face stern and serious. "Come down here if your estate ever feels unsafe. You know the ways through the sewers. Even if I'm not here, then it will still be safe."

She squeezed his hand in thanks, and after promising to do so, went back to her task.


	6. Chapter 6

Kirkwall was a city overflowing with ridiculous nobles. Though Aveline couldn't officially limit her search to them, after rereading through the poison pen notes with Varric, they were both convinced that it was a noble or at least someone connected to the nobility that was writing to Hawke.

That was far too many people for her comfort, too many suspects to go around looking the traditional ways. Fenris was eager enough to make any of them talk, but that wasn't the way Aveline wanted to play it. The best she could do was try to set a trap, and start eliminating people as best she could. Of course, asking directly was out, because all of Kirkwall would swear that they loved their Champion and wished her no harm.

Cullen's note provided her only clue, and Aveline decided that Varric and Fenris could come with her to question the hosts of the parties they'd attended. Maybe they'd noticed something out of the ordinary that Cullen, as a guest, wouldn't have seen or understood. The silver-tongued Varric was an obvious choice to take with her, but Fenris less so. There was no other blade she'd rather have guarding her back, and walking into some noble's den without enough protection was just foolish.

"Lord Reinhardt, thank you for seeing us and helping with this investigation," Aveline began.

"Of course, Guard-Captain. Please, tell us what you are investigating and how I can help," Reinhardt said, as cool as ever.

Varric spoke up. They'd agreed to let him do most of the talking, and lying if it came to it. Aveline didn't want to be responsible for a lie. She wasn't gifted in the art of it, and it could always wind up coming back to haunt her professionally. She might still be party to a lie, but it wasn't her uttering it. The technicalities of it all were dubious, but at least she could deny it, if it ever came down to it. Nobles were fickle, and used technicalities to destroy and protect where they saw fit. In order to deal with them, she had to be prepared to do the same.

"This isn't official, my lord. Just a conversation about a party that you hosted recently, I heard it was quite the fete," Varric said.

Lord Reinhardt smiled. "Ah yes, it was extraordinary. My wife does manage to pull off some of the most charming parties." His eyes sparkled as he said it, acknowledging the compliment he paid himself. Aveline almost snorted her disdain when Varric came to her rescue once again.

"The exquisite hospitality of your house is well known, my lord," he lied. "But what we were wondering about was your guest list. There is a certain party that caught the eye of one of your guests, but the person was not known."

"The Champion would like to further her introduction to someone she met through my generosity? Why then would the guard be involved?" Reinhardt asked, his eyes narrowing shrewdly.

"I think it's the other way around. There has been attention that was unwanted," Aveline said and Reinhardt frowned. The expression was almost comically large, not helped by his bushy mustache.

"That is... unfortunate." The last word came out slowly, as he calculated. She could almost hear the gears grinding as he chose his next words. "My wife's servants can furnish you with the list at once. We want bear no ill will towards our Champion, and will not stand to have her receiving unwanted attention because of a guest. I assure you that whomever this is, does not represent my house." Reinhardt was stiff-backed and though a little flustered, growing angry.

"We knew you were our best chance at getting to the bottom of this, which is why we came to you," Aveline said, glancing up at Varric to see him nod almost imperceptibly. "Your impeccable honor is well known, my lord. As is your discretion." It pained her, but she didn't let it show. Flattery was almost always an exaggeration, not an outright lie. 

Reinhardt finally looked her straight in the eye. Aveline didn't blink. She'd stared down far worse than him in her lifetime. The nobleman took her measure and then nodded. "Of course, Guard-Captain."

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?" Aveline asked. Now that the nobility double-speak was at an end, she could finally question him properly.

Reinhardt shrugged, his massive bulk making him look like a tree with the branches swaying. "It was a large gathering, and I was at the center of it. The duties of a host and all of that. I cannot say that I spent more than a few moments in the company of the Champion. She arrived with the Knight-Captain, I believe? But she had the attention of many, as she always does. Captivating young woman," Reinhardt added, smiling to himself. Fenris shot the man a dark look that went entirely unnoticed.

"Please, if you remember anything out of the ordinary, send for me. We can speak in private when you do."

"It is very serious then?" Reinhardt asked. Aveline almost regretted telling him, but there was no way she could make inquiries of this kind and not have people think it was on Hawke's behalf. At least she'd managed to keep Cullen out of her questions. She didn't want to alert anyone that she knew that he too had received threats.

"I hope not," Aveline said, and stood. "Thank you for your time, my lord."

Reinhardt's servants led them from the estate, where Aveline blew out a deep, frustrated breath. She hated this part of the job. Questioning nobles always wound up being more trouble than it was worth. Regular guards wouldn't have had this trouble, but they would have gotten nothing but empty words. The nobility expected her to be more like them because of her rank, to pander and give favor, when she didn't. Fenris looked the way Aveline felt, and though he'd said nothing, she'd felt his presence had been invaluable. As silver-tongued as Varric was, Fenris was silent, unknown and good at keeping liars from delving too far into their fabrications for fear of repercussion at the end of his blade. She had rules to adhere to as part of the guard, while he had none.

"Most of that was bullshit," Varric said, sighing as he stood next to her. "Useless bullshit, except for this list. This list must have at least thirty names on it, and this is what they called an 'intimate dinner'." He snorted his disapproval and she was in agreement. 

"It is a start," Fenris said. Though his voice was even, she could hear that he too was unhappy with their results. They had to keep moving.

"All right, where to next?" Aveline asked. She still wasn't sure if Reinhardt had told them anything, but at least she'd checked into it. Noble parties, she wasn't sure how Hawke could stand them, to tell the truth. She barely wanted to go to the ceremonies she was required to attend.

"Cullen's list had the Landley's and the Rousseau's as the other hosts," Fenris told her, reciting the names from memory.

She didn't know how he fared with his reading lessons, but Hawke and Donnic had taken to helping him. Hawke more than Donnic, but Aveline had found him searching the barracks for a chapbook of poetry to lend Fenris. The thought made her smile unexpectedly before she thought better of it. Aveline tilted her head to the sky, looking up at the late afternoon sun and letting the smile drift from her face. Varric was watching her carefully, but said nothing.

It was at their second stop, to see Lord Landley that they got their one lead. Apparently Sebastian had been paying Hawke a great deal of attention that night, and he was seen constantly walking with her in the Viscount's Gardens. Aveline couldn't say she knew Sebastian very well, after all these years, but they were familiar enough. Part of her twitched uncomfortably at the suggestion that he might be involved. They could question him, see if he saw anything out of the ordinary. He'd attended Landley's and Reinhardt's parties for sure, and Lady Rousseau was almost certain he'd been at hers as well.

Aveline hoped Sebastian had a key to this mystery before it escalated.

#

Hawke enforced her own idleness for a day. There were no ailments to recover from anymore, no reason not to go down to the docks and knock down a bunch of thugs. None but her own. Her free days were unusually rare, but she had plans for that night. Not another endless dinner or party, though she was sure that there were some glasses clinking in Kirkwall somewhere. Nori waited for the better part of the day before bathing and getting dressed. She knew that Bran preferred to work mornings on the days the Keep was closed. She waited until it was almost evening to call on him.

He greeted her in his entry hall with, "I thought you might have forgotten where I lived."

"I could never forget the house with the gaudiest bedroom in all of Kirkwall."

"And you've been in all of Kirkwall's bedrooms, I'm sure," he said. "You said you'd send word, yet here you are unannounced and uncouth."

"Why would I send word when you so love my spontaneity?" She had forgotten to send word. It could have been done this morning, sent discreetly to the Keep disguised as other business, but it had simply slipped her mind. Not so for the seneschal.

Bran crossed his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed at her. His hair gleamed with touches of burnished gold in the waning sunlight. "I don't think so, Champion. I am not at home to visitors tonight. Good evening, serah."

There was an edge to his statement, a challenge in his tone just behind that words that kept her from being completely put out. It took her a second to figure out what he wanted. "Are you certain, seneschal? Because I was really hoping you were receiving visitors."

Bran said nothing, just gazed at her. She sighed, trying to suppress her smile. Bastard. He was really doing this. Nori reached into her purse and withdrew one of his favors, then held it up between two fingers. Bran's smile unfurled as she twirled it around and she cursed the miserable man.

"Are you at home now?" she asked. Bran walked forward and deftly plucked the coin from her hand.

Bran kissed her in response, a hand clasping over hers and relieving her of the favor at the same time. He was rough - hard lips and pressure against hers, greedy and eager behind is crafted boredom. She knew he just wanted that favor back for a reason, one that she tried not to think about as his tongue teased her own. He had her favors, if he wanted her to do anything, he would simply employ them. His fingers tightened on the small of her back, drawing her in closer, pressing her breasts against the wall of his chest.

When he stepped away he scowled at her, but it was tempered by the smallest of smirks. "Come in and take your clothes off. The light won't last for another hour yet."

"So eager," Nori commented as they navigated their way through the halls. They were empty save for themselves, and she had to wonder if his servants used the corridors or if he had passageways built so they would never be seen.

"I've been kept waiting, and we have a great deal to paint," he answered snappishly. She quieted, disappointed. In the fiction she'd begun spinning for them, he wanted her more naked for more than artistic reasons. She knew better than this, but it didn't stop her spirits from sliding downward.

If Bran noticed her disappointment, he made no move to address it. Nori reminded herself that this was a transaction, they were free of obligation. That was how this worked. Her fascination with him was only because she wasn't sated after only one encounter. Affection was not necessary for the acts she had in mind. 

"Bran, are you actually painting tonight?" she asked, her astonishment apparent in her words. So far he'd sketched her, had spent plenty of time looking at her, but this was the first she'd seen an actual canvas set up for use.

The fire was lit already in the room, and she had a feeling that even if she hadn't shown up at his house, Bran would have been painting. Perhaps not her, but he would have worked on some painting that evening. While she removed her clothes, Bran changed his and answered her.

"If I don't commence this painting soon, it will never dry."

"How long does it take for paint to dry?" she asked, mostly out of curiosity.

"Ages," Bran said, revealing himself to her in clothes much less pristine than those he normally wore. They weren't particularly spattered with paint, just older, less fine. He put an apron on over them anyway, despite their age and the fact that they'd fallen out of fashion. He was always so careful.

Nori only caught a glance of the canvas before she went to lay across the couch, but he'd already sketched her onto it. The outline of her body was draped across the settee in the forefront, and the background had the rough sketch of the bookshelves behind her. Seeing the work progress made her inexplicably proud, though it was Bran's work; she'd only posed for it.

He was painting her in the dying sunlight of his study when he looked up and asked, "do you dye your hair?"

Nori feigned affront. "Now that's officially the rudest thing you've said to me. Congratulations."

"We shall have to drink to it later. Your hair is boot black everywhere but at the roots," Bran commented.

"My hair is mostly grey, seneschal. I'm sure that raises more questions than it answers."

"Not at all. You are an Amell. I think you're just the latest in a long line of that went prematurely grey," Bran said.

"Not premature in my case. I think I earned all my grey hair," Nori said.

Bran looked up at her at that, not in the somewhat dreamy way he had of gazing at her when he was rending her into ovals and circles and shapes to be drawn, but the way he looked at her when she came into his office reeking of carrion and responsibility. There was a flash of honesty and pity mingled there, but suppressed just as quickly as it had formed. He bent his head back down and picked up another paintbrush.

"You probably have," he conceded. "I wouldn't presume to know."

"Do you want to find out?" she asked, her tone almost flippant with its casualness.

Bran said nothing, but she saw his hard smile as he mixed his paints. Oh, he wanted to find out, but he would never ever admit it to her. Not just then. The disappointment that burrowed deep into her started to lift, and Nori adjusted herself with tiny movements so she could see the sunset in the windows behind Bran.

"Don't fidget, Champion. It's unseemly." Bran admonished her in the same bored tone he used in the Keep when he couldn't be bothered to muster up politeness.

Nori smiled.

#

It was becoming her habit to go to sleep on him while he painted. Granted, they had gone late into the night, far past when the sunset lit her copper skin with hints of crimson. Maker, he hadn't been able to look enough, wished he had some way other than his tired hands to make that image of her indelible.

He was tired and achy. His wrists would need to be soaked in warm water for the next few mornings and wrapped each night to ease the pain. The work week was just starting, and the pain would only increase with each day of writing. This schedule was taking too much from him, demanding and unrelenting, yet he powerless to stop it. Stop his job and Kirkwall would fall into complete templar rule within a sennight. He was no zealous patriot, but he could not allow that to happen. There was little between Kirkwall and templar rule, save for him and the woman who'd shared his bed.

How had he come to this? That thought often crossed his mind, but never more than when he fell asleep next to Nori. It was banished however, when she woke up with him at first light. He liked sleeping with her, feeling the warmth of her nude body next to his. Bran slept in his nightclothes, mostly out of his own sense of restraint. It would crumble if he were to wake up next to her, his skin touching hers. He wasn't ready for that yet; Bran had other plans.

They hadn't time in the morning, not like the other they'd spent together, but Bran wasn't content to let her leave his bed untouched. He'd woken up with Nori pressed against his back, and when he shifted he found her awake. He'd kissed her with little regard for anything other than the joy of just kissing her, running his flat palms over her sinewy body. With a little encouraging from him, she'd touched herself as he watched, her fingers slipping around her pearl as he tried vainly to avoid blinking, not wanting to miss a moment. Bran had watched how she writhed, how her eyes closed involuntarily as she gasped, the way her hand cupped her own breast as the other worked. When he closed his eyes, he could still smell her arousal, thick and potent and warm. He hadn't laid a finger on her until she finished, like a dam breaking for both of them. The taste of her skin had mingled with his morning tea afterwards.

"Seneschal," a female voice cooed at him, rousing Bran from his recollections of the morning.

"Lady duPont, please, come in." He had meetings this morning, not time for idle fascinations.

Not that Lady duPont wasn't once one of his fascinations. They'd spent a most pleasant time together when her husband was in Orlais a few years back. Bran had no wish to continue, for Lord duPont was a chevalier, and while a dalliance was tolerated from time to time, an affair was grounds for a duel. He hated dueling. It was far too messy for the likes of him, and his skill with a sword was good for politician, but not at all up to scratch for a chevalier.

"You wish to petition the Viscounty to speak on your behalf to Orlais," he began, but Lady duPoint held up a hand.

"Straight to business, Bran? That is not our way." She shook her magnificent golden head at him, chiding with mischievous eyes. He knew what she wasn't asking. Bran considered for a moment, looking at her. She was certainly still handsome, but had lost some of her appeal in his eyes. He thought he now rather preferred dark hair these days.

"I'm afraid it has to be, since my time is so limited, my lady. I hope this doesn't offend?"

"No, of course not. These are trying times after all. I do wish things were back to normal," she said. She sat back in her chair, somewhat deflated. Bran couldn't decide whether she was offended or not, but he decided to think that she'd chosen pragmatism over insult.

"No one wishes for order more fervently than I, even if that order is somewhat more effective on paper than in practice," Bran said. He was being indiscreet, but Lady duPont had earned his confidence in the past.

She accepted it, her head tilted slightly at him as she smiled. They spoke of nothing more than city business in their meeting, but she let a gloved hand cover his at the end. It wasn't affection, not in truth, but sympathy. She didn't have to work as he did, did not understand the burden of the city and how it weighed on his shoulders. Sympathy, not understanding.

Understanding came through his door once Lady duPont had departed. Here was the other bulwark against Kirkwall's destruction, one that had escaped his mind as he lay in bed that morning. Guard-Captain Aveline walked in, and uncharacteristically closed the door carefully behind her. Bran was immediately on alert. Not because she'd been careful closing the door, no Aveline was careful in most things, but because she'd bothered to shut it at all.

"Seneschal, I must make inquiries of you that are to go no further than this office," she began.

He gestured towards the seat in front of his desk and she took it, sighing. There was real frustration there, not just the kind that came from policing Kirkwall. Bran would have guessed whatever she sought information about was taxing her more than usual. "Are you investigating me, Guard-Captain?"

She shook her head. "No, but I find myself in need of your opinion. Your knowledge of the nobility of Kirkwall far exceeds mine."

That answer intrigued him, but Bran said nothing, watching as she composed her questions in her head.

"I'm investigating some threatening letters, outside of my regular duties. It falls under city business, but it isn't the kind that should be spread around. I think that there is a danger to the city, and to more people than just the recipient of the letters."

"Go on."

"How well do you know the families Reinhardt, Landley and Roussseau?" she asked. Bran looked at her, bemused for some moments before answering. When Aveline failed to elaborate, he made his own venture into what type of information might prove helpful.

"Reinhardt is rich, boring and utterly transparent in his machinations. He would never write letters, nor would his wife. She spends most of her time in the Chantry when she isn't trying to marry off her daughters," he answered.

"Is Reinhardt trustworthy? A man of honor?" she asked.

"I would think so," he said slowly. "As is Landley, their family has less wealth but have managed to make it grow in the past generation. They have more to lose than the Reinhardts - Magistrate Landley serves the city - though that service does not render them impervious to outside influence. The Rousseaus can be bought. You need only check their debts at 'The Prodigal's Return' to see how dire their circumstances are," Bran advised.

"The gaming hell?" Aveline frowned sternly at him at the mention. "Would their books be accurate?"

"Accuracy is how they make their money, Guard-Captain. I assure you, they are very accurate. Rousseau or any of the family might be enticed to recklessness with the right amount of money. I daresay you could gauge the wealth of most of Kirkwall's elite by looking at their books. The hard part is getting a look at them."

Aveline stood up. "That might not be a problem at all. Thank you, Seneschal." She stood up with purpose, and Bran suddenly pitied anyone in her way.

"Guard-Captain?" Bran called before she got to the door. She turned. "To whom were these threatening letters addressed?"

"Hawke," she said, and hesitated. "And the Knight-Captain. I have kept his letters quiet, but Reinhardt assumed I was visiting on behalf of Hawke and I let him think that, though he assured me of his discretion. I have no wish to make this a templar matter. All missives directed to him were still threats to her."

"Maker," Bran almost swore more harshly, but didn't want to alarm Aveline. She would pick up on it immediately. He settled on saying, "please keep me informed," in the blandest tone he could muster. Nori hadn't mentioned any letters, not at all when they met, but they were hardly confidants. Bran hadn't regretted it until that moment.

"Seneschal?" Her question was evident at his unexpected request. Bran smothered the annoyance that almost made it to his face.

"Kirkwall would be mired in unrest if something happened to their Champion, and this is not the time for more unrest," he said simply.

"I agree," Aveline said stiffly. He had offended somehow, but couldn't be bothered to figure it out. She did not fully trust his answer, but accepted it. That would have to do for now. He could make up the offense to her some other time. That was usually how they did things - one of them offended the other and then there was a peace offering between them, mostly useful information given freely to make up for the offense. She left the door open behind her. An urchin bustled past her, slipping into the room as soon as she'd gone by.

"Message for you, messere." They placed the letter in his hand with a slight bow. He could see the child's scrubbed clean scalp beneath their dark hair when they dipped their head. A pity the rest of them was not as clean.

Bran flipped the child a coin from his desk without looking. It flashed silver in the air before it was caught expertly in their grubby hand. They looked at the coin and then back at him, their face splitting into a ragged grin.

The note said: Dreadfully sorry that I showed up without informing you first last night. I've poor manners, you see. May I call on you again this week? You owe me a drink. - N

He nearly laughed as he read it, but his laugh was hard to find, even in private. It did make him smile, truer than he could normally manage in his office. His worry for her wasn't set aside, but it also wasn't a thing he could inquire about in response to this short missive. Bran took out a fresh piece of parchment and addressed it first, then simply wrote "yes" inside of it. He sealed it with his personal seal, sadly underused these days and sent it off with the urchin.

Next time she showed up, he would be ready for her.


	7. Chapter 7

He sent for her instead of waiting, because he wanted to see her more than he wanted anything else. Thankfully, she wasn't off slaying dragons or whatever it was she did in her free time and agreed to see him two days after she'd sent her note to him.

Bran was tired, exhausted with everything. He couldn't remember the last time he hadn't felt so weary. Yes, actually he could. It was before, and like it was with any change, he couldn't help but resent how easy it had been before. Before the Viscount died, before Kirkwall went to hell, just before everything. Painting her helped him feel like he had when the world made more sense. With her, he could pretend things were as they had been, that the life he led was that of a seneschal and not one man holding the dam as it broke around the Viscount's vacant office.

Before he began painting Nori, his last bit of peace was with Serendipity. He'd been receiving that night, his hands bound as he stared at the headboard and let her have her way with him. Serendipity offered a kind of mindless peace, but with Nori there was something more. She was different, but still offered him peace, comfort, care, and a challenge -- all things that his life lacked for far too long. Their odd relationship had evolved from mere transaction to something he could not name, didn't want to pin down. It was a surprise that it had lasted this long, though a pleasant surprise. It was like a spring gale chasing winter away, still bracing and cold but no less welcome for all of its harshness.

His days were too long, and respites too far between. Though he liked his time with her, it came at a price, adding nighttime hours to days started at dawn. That night there was nothing he wanted more than to just bury his face between her legs, but even with their arrangement, he was not allowed that liberty. They were still asking before every step, and he was ever careful with her wants and wishes. Still, when she showed up on his door, clad in armor and not a dress, his desire for her grew. Bran looked his fatigue when Nori arrived, but would not turn her away, not even when she asked if it would be better to come back.

"Bran, you look as if you're going to drop. Handsome as always, but exhausted. Really, we have plenty of time together. There will be other nights," she'd said, her voice carefully free of concern.

He'd noticed her control, because it was his job to make note of such things and because her consideration for his sensibilities showed how much she did care. Despite everything between them, he wanted her to care, even if they were still playing their game of coins and power. She'd dressed for him, in a long, sweeping dress of green silk with sheer fabric over her shoulders. Bran appreciated the effort. He would not turn her away, not when he so wanted to see her and she was dressed for his gaze alone.

"I needed to see you tonight. Come," he said, and left the explanation at that. He lead her from the entry where she'd stopped further into the manse.

He didn't lead her to the study where he painted, or his private apartment. Bran took her to the courtyard where he had his large and manicured gardens. They were lush this time of year, the buds of spring breaking open into the warm air to produce fragrant flowers, herbs and some of the berries he enjoyed. They passed a tiered clay pot with strawberries dripping from every free spot. They were in differing stages of ripeness, some deep red like her lips, and other still green with only the merest hint of pink.

"The courtyard? However are you going to paint me here?" Nori asked.

"I'm not," he said.

He had been anticipating her arrival, and this night. It had been all he could think about for a while, and yet he hadn't wanted it to come too soon. Bran was too exacting to have left this to chance. It had to be the courtyard, because he'd fantasized about her there for too many nights after she'd stood admiring it on her first visit. That night, though only weeks before felt like a lifetime in the past. Though maybe he hadn't started his fantasy with her offering to leave in his imaginings, Bran had planned the next few steps. He wanted Nori, burned for her with more heat than he'd felt in a very long time.

He played her a song with no proper name that he'd written a few years ago before Kirkwall fell even further, before she was so necessary. It was full of bittersweetness and longing, and a hope he'd long since discarded in favor of reality. Bran's playing was superb, and the courtyard offered beautiful acoustics for his violin. Marlowe had often commented that Bran had been wasted in the service of the Viscount, for he was made for music. Perhaps he had been in some other life, but in this it was just another trifle to make his life more pleasant than the subsistence existence so many toiled to eke out. It was like all the parties and wasted bottles of wine, all the naked nobles he'd painted and slept with.

The fire flickered behind him as he played, a fire he had lit by a mage spell that kept itself burning until smothered. Bran kept a mage in his service, an elf of some talent with fire spells. She was unfurled before him, reclining large cushions that created a soft space between the beds of shrubby flowers. They were between the cherry scent of the heliotrope and the medicinal valerian.

When there was one more song in him, shorter, sweeter. The tune was full of swells and appassionato that never failed to move him even at the worst of times. He let the notes hold the things he normally kept in check. Nori watched him with half-lidded eyes, a hand over her heart until the last note. When Bran finished, he carefully set his instrument aside and kissed her.

"Say yes," he said, kissing Nori's neck. He could feel her breathing, shallow and quick.

"Maker, yes." She breathed the words, unable to give them full voice. "Bran, all I want is for you to take me right here," she whispered, fingers carding through his hair. The combination of her touch and her barely there voice sent a jolt of want straight down to his groan. He barely held in a groan as he felt himself grow hard.

"Is that so?" he asked, murmuring into the rapid beat of her pulse, lifting her hair from her neck so he could kiss the downy hair and soft skin there.

"Yes, yes, yes. I want it hard and slow, so slow it's torture for us both." She was panting even before she said it, and her heavy breaths punctuated the statement. He was just as affected, but more determined to be the one in control.

Bran would of course, oblige her. He was already well on his way as his fingers released the covered button at her nape that secured the neckline of her dress. The catch slid away with little prodding, removing the sheer fabric that impeded him from touching the skin of her shoulders directly. With them bared and her neckline loosened, his lips had more places to taste while his fingers undid the row of hidden buttons further down Nori's back.

She wasn't content to just kiss him as he undressed her. They were sitting at an angle, all the better so he could kiss and disrobe her, but her hands worked at his buttons as well. Blessedly, he had much fewer than she and Bran could already feel her warm hands under his shirt a counterpoint to the cooler night air.

It was heady, exciting, Bran's skin buzzed when her hands touched him. He felt like, well if not a teenager than at least a much younger man. Desire flowed through him, making him draw breath in so sharply he whistled slightly with an inhalation. He recalled the taste of her, faintly, from their morning together. So many times he'd thought back to that, wondering when all of these nightly visits would lead to her unraveling in his arms just as she was now. He'd wanted more than just physical pleasure from Nori Hawke -- he'd wanted her to want him. This night he was sure that she desired him and there was no one else in her thoughts.

Bran broke their kiss to stand and shuck his own half undone clothes. When he did, Nori took the chance to do the same, fingers trembling as she reached back to unclasp her breastband. He caught her fingers and slid them away, unclasping the band himself and letting it fall away. His hands massaged her breasts from behind, holding them and hefting their weight, teasing the nipples into pert tautness as he kissed her neck. She shifted, trying to guide his hand under her smallclothes and between her legs, but he preferred her naked. His thumbs hooks in her smalls to pull them down and as they slid, he went along with them.

Nori sank back down to the pillow covered ground with him, kicking off the last of her clothes. Her hands were busy fondling his cock, stroking its incredible hardness to a slow rhythm that made his hips arch in time with it. Then she wrapped her hot mouth around the head of it and he was lost to sensation for several moments.

It was then he was sure that this wouldn't last. He could do a lot to make the whole encounter last all night, but if he didn't have Nori soon, Bran feared he might combust as surely as if he'd been hit with a fireball.

"Nori," he was commanding, though it strained the edges of his control. Maker, he was prepared to beg, if he didn't come in her mouth first.

Luckily, she understood, pulling away from him. Bran was still panting when she guided his length into her, lowering down on his prone body while he caught his breath. Oh sweet Maker, the heat of her was absolutely deliciously perfect. Their moans were mingled together as he pushed upward, filling her. She was wet and hot and so very tight around him. Surprisingly wet, Bran thought, but if Nori wanted him the same way he wanted her, then it wasn't such a revelation.

Her hands were crawling over his chest as she started to lean forward, hard palms and sharp nails creeping over his flesh. Bran snapped his hips harder, pulling her into a quick beat. Oh this would end soon, a short but glorious ride. He'd make it up to her later, he always did when he came first.

"Bran," she said, his name whispered softly between gasps of breath. Every time they were together, every time she came in his presence, she said his name. Her whispered fantasies and desires belonged to him, the thought making him heady as it formed.

He pulled her hips down to his, keeping her close. Buried deep inside of her, he felt himself begin to give way, cock twitching as he pushed as deep as he could from the bottom. Bran opened his eyes to watch her, breast bouncing with his every thrust, head thrown back with sweat shimmering down her neck in the moonlight.

And then she snapped, hard and true, with a cry that surprised them both. It was deep and full throated, filling the air of the garden around them. Then she shattered, gripping his thighs between hers with a strength that brought the clarity of pain with it. It made Bran climax just as hers was beginning to ebb. He came quick and hard, nothing drawn out but the more intense for it. He spilled inside of her and didn't pull out, couldn't bear to take himself away from her heat before he had to.

Then Nori fell forward onto his chest and rolled off to the side, her hair wild and her eyes glassy. He would remember this look when he painted her eyes, that feral wildness that was within them. Maybe he might even be able to get it on the canvas. Bran kissed her temple as she lay there, then closed his eyes.

#

She shouldn't have been surprised that he thought of everything, but Nori was a little impressed. When they couldn't move, they lay there boneless and spent and rested for a short time. The harem pillows and makeshift tent that they lay on was too close to the ground to be comfortable, especially after all of their exertions. When she pointed it out, Bran stood up.

Nori looked at him, unable to summon up the desire to be discreet in her admiration of his form. Whatever life he'd led, or however he aged, Bran was not soft. He didn't have the hardened form of say, a templar or one of her companions, but his life wasn't one of physical trial. He might have been much worse, but there was no softening around his middle and his arms showed the indication of muscles that might have once been larger in years past. He bore her scrutiny without comment, pretending not to notice as produced her pink silk robe from somewhere nearby.

"As pleasant as this has been, I don't sleep on the ground. Come, Champion. This night is far from finished," Bran said. He held a hand out to her after slipping into his smallclothes and breeches.

She slipped into the robe he'd so thoughtfully brought for her, and gathered up her things. He left everything else, including his violin. When she asked about it, he responded that it would be put away 'shortly'. Nori didn't like to think on who might have overheard them while keeping a vigilant eye turned away from the garden.

"Where did you learn to play?" she asked.

"My mother taught me," Bran said. He held out a hand and she took it, shuffling her clothes around so that she could. He hadn't bothered taking his, but then again, it was his house.

"You play well enough," Nori said, hiding her smile.

"I have come far if I'm impressing the heathen Fereldans now." They rounded a corner and went deeper into the manse. She'd been here so many times at night, she recognized the way. He was leading her to his bedroom, but at a pace much more brisk than his normal sauntering walk. She wondered why they were rushing, but didn't ask.

It became apparent to her when Bran wrenched open the door to his bedroom, let it slam behind them and pushed her up against a wall to kiss her. Caught off guard, she let out an undignified squawk before settling into the kiss. The clothes in her hands fell to the floor in her surprise, tumbling to cover their feet with a soft thump. It wasn't gentle or soft or at all like any post-coital kiss she'd ever been given before. Bran's kiss was hard, his lips demanding even after all they'd just done together, full of unsatiated want. All he did was kiss her, his hands didn't stray under her robe and he didn't press up against her, but Nori felt the force of his desire in that lone point of contact. His tongue was domineering against her own, his lips claiming one kiss after another, only pausing to break away for a short breath and to reposition then they were back on her, aching and bruising at the same time.

"Why do I get the feeling that you still don't really like me?" Nori asked. They broke apart, both panting and she was as much aroused as she was confused by the kiss. Bran considered her before he answered, and she stared right back at him. He was all disheveled hair and bare-chested, rising and falling with deep breaths as she watched him.

"Because, Champion, I like you too well. You are loud and Fereldan and have a mage sister. Your mother disgraced her family by running away with an apostate. You kill things for a living, and the company you keep is questionable at best. On more than one occasion you've tracked debris from some scuffle into my office, staining the carpets. But the more time I spend with you, the better I like you and that vexes me." Bran admitted all of that in his normal, annoyed, clipped sort of voice, but she could hear through it. It really did annoy him that he liked her, and he liked her far more than he was saying.

"Sounds serious," she said casually, sitting down on the bed.

"Don't be silly," he snapped, confirming that it was.

She'd hung the robe on the post before she'd pushed back the canopy, and she was nude again. Nori didn't miss how Bran's eyes flicked over her again, as if he hadn't just seen her nude in his garden. It was fair, since she'd made no secret that she'd looked him over when she got that chance.

"Perhaps you ought to do something about it then," she said, her face a picture of innocence.

Bran was caught as off guard by her statement as she'd been by his kiss. She expected snark, but didn't get it. His swearing was impressive, and she needed no other answer. Her amusement, she kept to herself.

"Could this happen at the Keep?" she asked, careful, careful, always so careful. They never blundered towards honesty if they could keep up their cagey dance.

Bran cocked his head to the side, gauging her interest with a sharp look. After a quiet moment he let a slow smile unfurl over his face. "Perhaps, given the right circumstances. What did you have in mind?"

"Me, facedown over your desk while a line of impatient nobles wait outside the door and you do your best to make me scream," she confessed her fantasy all in one breath. Bran's smile widened, but became more feral as it did. Nori shivered.

"That _could_ happen," he said, but just the way he said it was confirmation enough. Oh, it was going to happen as if it were written in the stars. She reached into her clothes and down into her pocket and handed him one of the favors that bore his name. Once she did, he spoke again, "I'm usually regrettably busy mid-morning. For instance, tomorrow I have a very large number of appointments that simply cannot be ignored."

"Then I will see you tomorrow, I have an urgent request you know," Nori said.

"Most urgent, provided my motivation is right," Bran said. Nori swore at him, making him grin all the more. She wasn't gracious as she deposited the token in his waiting hand. "Around the eleven o'clock hour, Champion. I look forward to making you whimper my name with an audience."

She shivered. So was she.

"Come to bed now," he said. It was a request not an order, even for its wording. "Unless you've tired of me tonight?" Bran asked, an eyebrow raised to underscore how unlikely he thought that was.

"Not yet tonight," Nori said, this time letting her smile show. "Tell me you have something interesting in that chest near the bed," she said, gesturing to a seemingly ordinary looking chest on the floor. She knew him too well, knew that if it were locked it was for good reason.

"Ah Champion, I will work to make you regret your curiosity."

"And as always, I will endeavor to prove you wrong," Nori said. She slipped onto the cool sheets next to him and closed her eyes as Bran kissed her once more.


	8. Chapter 8

The Hanged Man was as loud and filled with the usual louts for Aveline to step over as she went to meet Varric again. This investigation was starting to keep her up at nights -- she was growing increasingly worried for Hawke as time passed. They had to gain some ground soon, otherwise there was no telling what might happen. It was nothing good, Aveline was sure of that. She could tell by the look on his face that Varric was just as worried as she, but he affected his normal easy-going look as she entered his rooms. She didn't bother to sit at the table, as if she were here for cards and drinks. He cleared his throat, and she knew he had news.

"Since we started looking into those notes, I've put a couple of people on watching Hawke," Varric admitted to her. "There's been some weird shit, but no one following her, not as far as they can tell. She's just busy, for lack of a better word," Varric said. There was some definite strain to his words. If she wasn't mistaken, he was uncomfortable. That alone was more than enough to make Aveline curious.

"Busy?" Aveline asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's really none of our business until Hawke wants to talk about it. If she ever does. I wouldn't if I was her." He muttered the last part, almost as an aside to himself, but Aveline caught it. Varric cleared his throat and went on, "Suffice it to say she's not doing anything dangerous or illegal, and that's a hell of a lot better than most of us. Let's leave it alone."

There was a finite edge to his last words that Aveline had seldom heard before, unless he was talking about Bartrand. He truly wasn't going to tell her whatever it was that Hawke was doing that kept her so busy, but Aveline could guess. She had been there with the passed around bottle of liquor and he hadn't, had seen Hawke's determined face and knew. She knew Hawke had a lover whom she had deemed inappropriate for various reasons and thus, kept them secret. Aveline didn't wonder about who it was -- in Kirkwall there were a whole host of people she could think of as inappropriate for Hawke. She liked to think it was a Fereldan dock worker or some templar, but knowing Nori it was probably a noble or someone so high up in the government that it would make it awkward for Aveline to go to city council meetings.

"All right. Moving on, is Fenris joining us today?" she asked.

"He is. Should be here soon," Varric said, visibly relieved that Aveline hadn't tried to push him further.

As if on cue, Fenris showed up just after Varric made that pronouncement, and they made their plan for the day. They only lead they had to follow up on was to go to the Chantry to talk to Sebastian. Aside from the Knight-Captain, Sebastian was the only person that had gone out with Hawke. While it was less likely that he was getting letters, Aveline thought he might have crucial clues or that she'd find them in his rooms. Sebastian was a low-level threat in her mind, but she wanted to eliminate him entirely before going on. Her thoughts must have been transparent as she explained their plan, because Fenris spoke up to defend Sebastian against her suspicions. Aveline hadn't realized that he was so close to the Chantry Prince.

"We are going to question Sebastian?" he asked.

"Yes," Aveline answered. "He may have seen something he doesn't know is important."

"You suspect him." That wasn't a question, but she decided to treat it as one.

"He's of interest to this investigation. As many times as he's been out alone with Hawke he wouldn't have to put any effort into harming her, if that was his intent."

"Indeed," Fenris said, and Aveline heard the wry note in his voice.

"Fenris, what do you want to say?"

"Sebastian is not the person sending these notes. He is a man of honor," Fenris said, and the certainty in his tone made Aveline pause. She hadn't really suspected Sebastian, but it was best to check all corners. Stranger things had happened. But Fenris was so sure, it came out as if it should have been obvious to her.

She nodded, accepting his words with the consideration they were due. She couldn't and wouldn't rule Sebastian out solely on the word of Fenris, but it did carry weight. They left the Hanged Man as she thought on this and the conspicuous absence of evidence from Varric's surveillance. Either someone knew he was watching or the notes weren't planned. No, she ruled the unplanned thought out as soon it came to her. This was all too professional, but it made her itch when she thought on it. Something was too wrong here, but damn if she could put her finger on it.

The Chantry was cool and silent when they arrived, just after a service let out, the air thick with the scent of burning candles and incense. The Chantry had never been a place of solace for Aveline, and she found the atmosphere too heavy for her liking. Still, they had business and after questioning a passing Mother, they were directed to the yard where Sebastian was currently working.

The day was warm and humid, but Aveline breathed a sigh of relief when they stepped outside. Spring had reached its zenith weeks ago, and they were careening toward a hot summer, if heat at this early time of day was any evidence. A wheelbarrow stood near the door, with a rake propped up against the side. It was no wonder that Hawke liked to keep him on her arm when she went to parties, Aveline mused as they entered the yard. Though he was dressed appropriately for his task, Sebastian's work shirt had soaked through with sweat, sticking to his finely muscled torso as he continued humming to himself. He was singing the Chant of Light to himself as he worked, aided by what looked suspiciously like a few younger initiates that had drawn this duty as punishment.

"Sebastian," Fenris said, surprising Aveline by speaking up first. "May we have a moment?"

Sebastian rose from the dirt where he was kneeling, and turned to them with a smile. "Fenris! Oh and Guard-Captain, Varric," he said, acknowledging them all in turn. "You aren't usually in the Chantry...wait, does Hawke need me?"

"You could say that," Varric said. Aveline fought the urge to give the back of his head a good smack. Had he learned nothing from their earlier inquiries?

"Sebastian, we need to talk about Hawke," she began, standing at parade rest as Sebastian stretched, and then brushed dirt from his hands onto his trousers.

Fenris offered him water from his flask, which Sebastian turned down with a shake of his head. He had his own, and a towel mop for his brow. The children on punishment were dispatched to other, farther corners of the Chantry garden before Aveline could go on. When she did, she spoke carefully, concerned as much that she might spook Sebastian if he was their culprit. It was unlikely in her opinion, but always a possibility.

"Do you think I've written these letters to Hawke?" he asked, frowning at her. He was cannier than she gave him credit for, but that didn't win him any favors from her.

She shrugged, opting for honesty. "It's a possibility, but right now I don't think it's likely. I'm more interested in anything you might have seen that would lead us to the real culprit. The rest of us don't attend the same parties as you and Hawke."

"I'm honored by your trust in me," he said, and she couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. He said it in the same earnest tone he always used, but went on before she had time to think on it more. "Kirkwall isn't the most accepting society, not even for me and I was once a prince. Hawke's outsider status and her wealth make her a target for many an envious heart. But my own prejudice leads me to suspect the Reinhardts. Hawke's late mother was trying to arrange a meeting between Hawke and one of their sons. Being deprived of that chance to make a match is a powerful motive."

"Seriously?" Varric asked, snorting. "Wait, don't answer that, I know how it works within the Merchant's Guild. I just like to forget."

Sebastian nodded at him. "Then you know about feuds within families, and people brokering alliances just to bring another house down."

Aveline felt the beginning of a headache start behind her eyes. This was precisely why she didn't deal with nobility in her own life -- there was far too much tradition and not enough actual real purpose. Why defend a family name when they didn't earn any of their honor in the first place?

"So you think it's Reinhardt?" she said, just to sum up. "Where do you suggest we look for clues then?"

"What exactly, do these notes want?"

"Hawke disgraced or dead, for the most part. They never ask for money or anything else, just a cowardly way of terrorizing her," Fenris explained, his anger evident in his voice. "Threats to keep her afraid."

"Which didn't work because Hawke was ignoring them, until I found them," Aveline said.

Sebastian gave her a small, hard smile. "That is like Hawke, isn't it? But I'd say you should start low and move upward. Asking these families questions will do nothing but bring grandiose speeches about how much they love the Champion. But I found the Flint Mercenaries by asking about work, as if I were a mercenary looking to go to Starkhaven."

"We've already put lines out at the Hanged Man," Varric said, forestalling him.

"For gossip on nobles, you're going to need to go to 'The Prodigal'," he said, but then smiled unexpectedly, "it's been some time since I used my membership, but it should still be good."

"You want to investigate?" Aveline asked, her eyebrows raised.

"If you'll have me," Sebastian answered.

She nodded back at him after thinking on it for a moment. Yes, he might just be able to do them some good. Her first thought had been to try to enlist the assistance of the Knight-Captain, but she was loathe to trust the templars in Kirkwall, even Cullen. Sebastian had better access to the nobility, and she could watch him to make completely certain he wasn't her letter-writer, but more importantly, Meredith couldn't demand to hear details of their search from him.

"Good. You should go investigate my cell now, while I'm out here working," he told her.

"I should?"

"To remove me as a suspect and get rid of that look in your eye while we work together," Sebastian said, and then turned back to the garden. "But there are no locks on the rooms in the Chantry, so it's not ideal and won't completely prove my innocence." He picked up the folded pad of dirty canvas he'd been kneeling on before and moved it to another weeding spot, further down the flower bed. "I'd do anything for Hawke, but my words alone can't be your only proof."

"Thank you," Aveline said, and then nodded again at him. "I'll send word when we need you."

With that, she, Varric and Fenris left the garden to go and search Sebastian's cell. She was sure that they could comb over the whole Chantry and would find nothing to incriminate him.

#

Nori closed her fist around the token that Bran had given her. He was looking at her with a bored look that she'd seen him use too many times in the Viscount's office. He was paying attention, though he didn't want to appear as if he were. It was a trick of his, and she was shamed to say it had worked on her a good many times before she figured it out. This time, she knew better. If he was giving her a token, they were well past negotiations.

"I've never tried it before," she said slowly.

That was true enough, but she understood what he wanted, and had heard more than a few stories from Isabela and other sources. Tongues at the Blooming Rose was notoriously loose for all that Lusine prided herself on discretion. She stared at the harness with its strange fake phallus on the end, unsure of where each strap went. Nori thought she'd had a decent amount of sexual experience, though this was new ground for her. But she was game, if she could figure out how to get it on.

"It could not be simpler, Champion. Either put it on or don't and I'll show you what's next."

Bran must have seen her confusion and mistook it for apprehension. The leather straps looked comfortable, even if they were a little stiff with newness. Comfort wouldn't be a problem, but she was inexperienced with anything more daring than some silk sashes to bind a partner to a bed, or blindfold them. But the more she thought about it, the more excited she got by the prospect of giving Bran just what he wanted. Until then, their arrangement had been, that he paints and she gave up tokens. This was a progression she hadn't expected when she'd sent her own favors to him.

"I'll need help getting into it," Nori said, and while Bran wasn't so crass as to betray relief, she felt the tension in him loosen. He was afraid she might reject his bold request, but she had no intention of leaving his bed.

In the end, he guided her through the whole thing, helping her adjust the straps and line up the harness properly. It fit to her, so that when she used it there was some stimulation for her too. It was exciting and unexpected, and she leaned over and kissed Bran soundly in anticipation. He helped her with the rest of it, including making sure there was enough oil for it to glide smoothly inside of him. As slide it home, she rocked her hips back and forth tentatively, just to see how it felt. Bran gasped, her movements catching him off-guard. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"You're doing well for someone that claims they haven't done this before," he said over his shoulder.

"I bet you say that to all the girls you let fuck you," Nori replied, dreamily. Bran's laugh sounded bitter to her ears, and she gave another small thrust to shut him up. The laughter was turned into a moan and she gave him a small, satisfied smile.

"Does that apparatus look as if it has ever been used before?" Bran asked.

"No."

"I should think that would answer the question of how many girls I let fuck me," Bran said, trying to keep his voice icy, but failing.

"But what about Serendipity?" Nori asked, before she could stop herself. Bran still on the end of her cock, and gave her a hard look over his shoulder.

"Champion, I had no idea you were so curious about my sex life," he began, but Nori cut him off.

"Don't start with that Champion shit, you odious man. Eyes forward or I swear I will get dressed and leave."

"If the way you tried to get into the harness was any indication, you can hardly get out of it on your own. Besides, I gave you a token." She heard the unspoken in his words, that leaving would violate the rules of their game. Nori didn't really have any intention of leaving, but wanted to throw him off.

"And I gave you a command," Nori grunted. "Now shut up." Damn him. She could never quite figure out how to say what she meant, because they were always dancing around each other. She wanted to know because she wanted to know what he liked, but she couldn't come out and say that without giving up what little power she held over him.

Instead, she concentrated on learning to maintain a proper rhythm, to figuring out just what made Bran squirm in her arms. He wouldn't come until she did, that was how they always played it, so it was in her interests as much as his to do it right. Nori sighed, running a hand down the length of Bran's spine, watching him shiver under her touch. He called her name, softly, through gritted teeth, and she thought she'd never heard a sweeter sound.

#

"I haven't seen Hawke much lately," Merrill said, sitting with Isabela. Isabela had just let her win a hand of cards, but they were both really just idling the time away.

"Neither have I," Isabela said. "So let's go find her. I'm sure she's up to some trouble."

"I could use some trouble. Ooh, and maybe she'll tell us more about the new lover that she has," Merrill said, excitedly, getting up.

"Don't get your hopes up, kitten. Hawke can be tight-lipped when it suits her." Isabela sounded grim, but then flashed her a smile. "We could always try getting a little drink in her. Hawke talks more when she's in her cups."

The two of them left the Hanged Man, arm in arm, and headed up to Hightown. It was a good day, they only got stopped by beggars and no one tried to rob them. Isabela was her usual soft-hearted self, giving away her coin to children that stopped them. Merrill dragged her on, knowing that they would never get to Hawke's estate if she let Isabela be caught by every urchin on the way.

Orana opened the door for the two of them, flour dusting her apron. Bodahn and Sandal weren't in, but Merrill and Isabela were directed up to the library, where they found Hawke sleeping with a book over her face. Undignified snores came from their friend as she slept on, ruffling the pages of the book with each breath. The book was 'A History of Kirkwall'. No wonder she was sleeping.

"Hawke," Isabela said, standing over her. Merrill shook Hawke lightly, trying to rouse her. They both knew from experience that Hawke rarely woke up on the first try, but it wouldn't do to startle her either. There was a knife within reach, probably under one of the pillows. Hawke didn't stir as Isabela called her again and Merrill tried shaking her. On the third try, Bela tried shaking her, while Merrill called her name. Something about the role-reversal did the trick, and Hawke woke up, cursing groggily at the two of them.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, when she finally finished telling them off for waking her.

Isabela shrugged, settled down onto the other end of the settee after pushing Hawke's feet out of the way. "We hadn't seen you in a while." Merrill folded herself onto the floor and looked up at Hawke, nodding. Hawke frowned contemplatively as she looked back and forth between the two of them, then a flash of guilt marred her face.

"Fuck. Sorry, I've been distracted. Let's go out gambling tonight," Hawke suggested at once, perking up. "There hasn't been much night work lately and I'm flush with cash from selling the stuff from that dragon we killed."

"Oh, do you mean at 'The Prodigal'? Merrill asked, her eyes lighting up. Isabela perked up as well. Neither she nor Merrill qualified for membership, though she had been before as a guest. She and Hawke had even gone a few times back when she'd first gotten the gilded membership card by special courier, out of the blue after she'd come back from the Deep Roads.

"Where else?" Hawke prompted, grinning wickedly at both Isabela and Merrill.

It took nearly an hour for all three of them to get ready, especially since Hawke didn't have much in the way of clothes that would fit Merrill. Still, they managed to find her a cloak trimmed in ermine and embroidered with gilt that was suitably glamorous enough and the three of them headed out. Hawke was one of the newer members of the club, which had only deigned to offer her membership a year after she'd come back from the Deep Roads with her fortune. Perhaps until then, her money was too new for her to waste at their tables, she couldn't guess their reasoning behind waiting.

It had been in her mind to refuse the invite, but Aveline, of all people, cautioned her against it. The wealthy had their haunts, places where business was done under cover of pleasure, and this was one of the more infamous in Kirkwall. If she wanted to ply her influence, Aveline suggested that she start at the Prodigal. She wasn't wrong, and Hawke made it her business to go to the place every once in a while, just to keep up appearances.

When she, Isabela and Merrill entered, Nori could feel the eyes on them. Instead of asking to be lead to a table to order drinks or dinner, they headed straight to the tables, changing gold for gambling coins. Free drinks were brought around to them, a bubbly white wine for Isabela, ale for Merrill and a whiskey and water for Hawke. Isabela raised her eyebrow at Nori's choice of drink, but said nothing. It wasn't like Hawke to drink straight up hard liquor, at least not at first. There was something off about her, but Isabela couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"This looks like the usual crowd," Hawke said, frowning as she surveyed the room. "Nothing out of the ordinary here."

"Or is it?" Merrill asked, giggling slightly. "Is your mysterious lover here?"

Hawke laughed, a warm, rich laugh that made Isabela smile to hear. It had been too long since she'd heard Hawke laugh, not since the beginning of all this note business, and the secret lover. Whenever she'd seen Hawke after that it was all work. That was no fun at all.

Nori merely raised an eyebrow at her as she answered, "Perhaps."

"Shall we guess then?" Isabela asked, but Hawke shook her head.

"You can try. Let's make a game of it, if it's to be any fun. We are standing in a gaming establishment, and it would be in theme with the night. I'll give you three questions, but you can't ask straight out who it is. Also, you each get one guess, at the end of the night," Nori said, smiling behind the rim of her glass.

"It's always a game with you," Bela said, but she smiled as she grumbled. Complaining was a way to hide how intrigued she was by this shadowy lover of Hawke. She was in awe the inappropriate rogue that held her friends attention so, and wondered why Hawke would hold their identity so tightly to her chest. Isabela would never judge her for taking a lover of any sort, but Hawke did love her secrets.

"All right," Merrill thought for a moment and then asked, "Are they truly here tonight?"

Nori scanned around the room, careful not to let her gaze linger too long in any one direction. She turned in a full circle, sussing out her prey. When Nori turned back to Merrill, her face was impassive as she replied with a cool, "Yes."

"He, she or they?" Isabela asked, speaking up next. She knew Hawke, knew that that distinction was an important clue that she'd never give up on her own.

"He," Hawke answered. "One more question. Make it a good one."

"Ready to bet, Champion?" A voice asked. Their little game was interrupted by the dealer at the table, they'd been standing off to the side, waiting to join the new hand. A seat at the table opened, and Hawke sat down, Isabela beside her and Merrill hovering between them. Isabela had a little of her own coin to lose that evening, but she was staying well away from anything that was purely left to chance. She preferred the odds slightly more in her favor.

As if on cue, servant dressed in the house colors of red and charcoal grey came out to exchange their mostly empty glasses for new, fresh drinks. Gamblers got free liquor, since it was in their interest for the clientele to be drinking if they were gaming. Hawke angled herself on her little seat so that the front of her dress, with its tight bodice, was put on display. She revealed no skin, but it was alluring watching each breath threaten to pop the row of buttons down the front. Bela smiled and though the dealer took no notice, the others gathered around the table did. When she'd first met, she'd only won hands of cards by luck, not through any great skill. But as the years went on, Hawke got cannier. She figured out her own tells and did away with them, becoming a smooth and practiced liar, confident in her dealing whether she won or lost.

"Can you think of anything else?" Merrill whispered, leaning in to Isabela. It took her a moment to realize that Merrill was referring to Hawke's question, the game that they were still supposed to be playing of 'Guess the man'.

"I think I've got one. Unless you have something?"

"No, no." Merrill shook her head. "I'm not sure what else to ask."

"Is he a working here or a patron?" Isabela asked, leaning over Merrill to whisper to Hawke.

There was a faint curve of her lips upward, as if she were surprised at the question. There was no telling why it made her smile, and Hawke would give them nothing else. "Patron," she answered simply, then made her bet.

Isabela spent her time watching the room, gambling less and less as the night went on and she tried to guess Hawke's lover. Tables full of people came and went between the tables and the dining room, flirting with the pretty servants that staffed the place. The Prodigal had a thing for pretty. It earned its clientele by offering its gaming services with a twist, beautiful, educated men and women staffed the place, all decked out in their best dress or fine uniforms. There were rumors that Lusine of the Blooming Rose tried to have them shut down at first, thinking they were edging in on her market with educated whores, but was instead offered the current arrangement with the club's shadowy owners.

A man stumbled past her on the uniformed arm of a burly employee, easing the drunken man away from the other patrons without disturbing their play. There had been many, many people that watched the three of them over the course of the night, but for as many winks as had come her way, Isabela knew that most of the longing stares, the hungry gazes were for Hawke. It wasn't just her impressive purse these days, but her. She was what the nobles dreamed of being -- smart, fearless and as Aveline would say, an active hand in shaping her own future.

From across the room, a dark haired man looked up and over at Hawke, who was laughing at a joke made by one of the people that had started to crowd around her over the course of her winning streak. Of course Hawke was winning, it was what she did, and Isabela shouldn't have been as surprised by it as she was. Eyeing the black haired man as he gazed over at Hawke once again, Isabela noted the pointed goatee on the man. Definitely Auguste Rousseau, and Isabela confirmed it as he looked over once again, staring at Hawke. Auguste was young, brash and definitely not the type to take a secret lover. He could barely keep a secret from his mother, let alone his elder sister Marienne. If he was Hawke's mysterious man, Isabela would eat all the cards in her hand.

Isabela flitted to and fro, making sure to leave Hawke's side so she could get a better view of the people watching her friend. So many people filled the club tonight, but she supposed that was why Hawke allowed their game to play out. There were a few more faces in the room taking furtive glances at Hawke. Some she ruled out right away, the newest magistrate probably liked the thought of power, not Hawke personally. Likewise she ruled out a few more men she knew didn't happen to like women in that way, but who stared over at Hawke nevertheless, with varying degrees of interest.

As she looked around, the list grew longer, Isabela considering the likelihood of each entry and shuffling them either to the top or the bottom. Rousseau went towards the middle, and she slid the Lord du Barry to the bottom of the list, knowing that both she and Hawke had taken that ride and disdained of it. She could swear she spotted the Comte de Launcet gazing over at her, but he was old enough to be Hawke's father. Taking a sip of her drink, Isabela decided not to count him out. Maybe, Hawke liked the experience of an older man, and Isabela was never one to judge.

Merrill came over to her, a slightly angry look on her face. "If one more person pinches me, I swear even the Creators won't be able to stop me."

"I know, kitten. Pinch them back," Isabela suggested, trying to lighten Merrill's mood. It worked, and her friend giggled.

"My fingers would ache from all the people I'd have to get back. I feel like half the room has either gotten me tonight or some earlier night. Why must they be so rude, Isabela?"

"Nobles think they own everything, even us. Maybe that's why they love and hate Hawke so much. She makes it clear that she can't be owned. C'mon, let's get back to her and see if she's done clearing out money from the house yet. They'll kick her out soon enough anyway, winning as much as she has all night."

Once she and Merrill collected Hawke, they made their slow, wending way through the tables to leave. Not too far from the exit, Hawke stopped at the table of Magistrate Landley and his eldest son, who'd waved her down. They were seated at a table near Seneschal Bran, who was doing his best to scowl at whatever dinner had been brought out for him. Hawke, answering the younger Lord Landley's call, gave both men a wide smile.

"Magistrate Landley, and my lord. It's so good to see you both," Hawke said, inclining her head in greeting as she spoke.

"Champion," Lord Landley said, giving Hawke a wide smile. He wasn't her lover, but he definitely wanted to be. "My father and I were just speaking of you."

Isabela scrutinized him, summing up the man in a glance. Almost forty, if not there already. He had a wide, kind face, guileless and open. She didn't know much about him, but he had the look of a lifelong academic, the type of man that probably considered entering the Chantry to be a scholar and had been prevented by his family obligations. He would probably go on to fill the shoes of his magistrate father, when he stepped down or died.

The magistrate grunted, looking displeased at his son's free tongue. "Yes well, you're been busy cleaning up the city. Another group of ruffians you helped catch was brought to trial today. The Guard-Captain speaks well."

"Guard-Captain Aveline is a vastly competent woman, I've always found," Hawke replied, giving the elder Landley a nod. Isabela noticed she turned her attention back to the son, batting her eyelashes at him. Whomever Hawke's lover was didn't dampen her natural inclination to flirt. The younger lord gave her a wide, handsome smile, and it took the years from his face. He was cute as a new puppy, if nothing else.

"Yes well, I suppose your company must keep her busy," said the magistrate, playfulness creeping into his own tone. Hawke had that effect on people, whatever they felt about her, she could get them to smile in her presence.

"One needs to be kept busy, or they will idle away into ineffectualness. Don't you agree, my lord?" Hawke had turned back to the younger man, clearly favoring him. Isabela didn't think the father minded at all, as he watched the interplay between her and his son.

"Oh yes, very much so. Distractions just don't serve, do they?"

"Not if you want to keep someone's interest for very long. I suppose that's why they are just mere distractions, after all. I'm sorry to cut this short, but I find myself overtired after a long night. Goodnight, gentlemen. Magistrate, my lord," Hawke said, extricating herself smoothly from the table after the affable younger Landley kissed her hand.

When they reached the night air, Hawke gave a quiet, smoky chuckle. Isabela looked over at her as she opened up her hand, the one Landley had kissed. Inside she clutched a note, and the sconces on the outside of the building gave off just enough light for Isabela to read it over her shoulder. It looked like a poem. How long had he waited to give that to her? Isabela slumped, disappointed. For a moment, she had hoped that Landley was going to make an interesting proposition, but he was just a lovesick pup.

"That wasn't him, was it?" Merrill asked, but Isabela stopped her.

"No, kitten, don't waste your guess on that lovestruck lump. It's definitely not him."

Hawke smiled, waiting. Isabela spoke up again. "He was there, but I haven't figured it out yet. Need more time to think about it."

"Take all the time you need," Hawke said graciously, as if she were extending an invitation for them to linger over dinner. They got into a hired carriage as it pulled up, and were driven away, Isabela none the wiser.

#

It was another interminable week for Bran, his recollections of Nori the only respite from the complete, soul-crushing ebb of boredom that threatened to crush him. That woman threatened to take up residence in more places than just his bed and fantasies, and Bran steeled himself for their inevitable parting. His painting needed only a few more details to be put in place, one or two more sittings at the most, and then Hawke would only be a sweet memory. One of the best, he thought, giving into a moment of sentimentality.

He was interrupted in his thoughts but the clomping footsteps of his tardy appointment. Genevieve Reinhardt, the elder matron of the house. She was a force -- creative, purposeful, responsible for making a good deal of the influence and wealth her family now enjoyed -- but solitary, and unsuited to the excesses of nobility. If ever the model of a serious, dedicated artist, it was she. It was a shame none of her children or grandchildren had inherited any of her talent.

"Seneschal," Genevieve said, the title hard and clipped coming from her mouth. "We need to discuss my family's tax bill."

"What of it, my lady?" Bran asked, his fingers steepled in his lap, expression schooled to neutrality. He knew why they were having this talk, but it wouldn't do to show that he had such knowledge. Indeed, he had just recently found out how extensive the Reinhardts debts were when a private sale of Genevieve's older works was quietly announced. He would have to mention it to the Guard-Captain.

"We're broke," Genevieve said, but the words were spoken without rancor. She'd had time to get used to the concept, to settle in with it. "And my worthless grandson is getting worse. I sent him to Orlais, to join Celine's army and learn some skill, but I hear that all he's done is get himself the clap within two weeks of leaving."

Bran didn't laugh, but not because he wasn't amused at her candor. Her disappointment was palpable, coloring the room with the hopes of restored honor and glory that were now lost to her. Genevieve looked up at him again, and he waited for her to speak. When she did, her voice was brisk and interested, speaking of things other than the money problems that plagued her family.

"You've been painting," she said, surprising Bran with her assessment. She eyed the stiff bandages that poked from beneath his cuffs. Normally, he'd make moves to hide the evidence, but it had already been seen, so he did nothing but look down and then back up at her before nodding in confirmation. "Still life or portraits?" she asked.

"Beauty," Bran said, trying to be evasive, but she was too used to sussing out evasions. Perhaps the trait acquired from having such a disreputable grandson.

"I remember teaching you to paint as a young man. Beauty," she snorted the last word and gave him a level look, "I hope it's landscapes, because all other beauty fades in time."

"We were discussing your tax bill," Bran reminded her, annoyed at her comment.

"Maybe if one of my granddaughters can succeed in finally winning over Prince Vael, we'll be able to pay the taxes all at once. But for now, we're screwed unless we figure something out."

Bran nodded, and without a moment of hesitation, took out the form that allowed the nobility to form a payment plan to the Viscounty. He'd used them much too often these days, but Kirkwall was in dire straits after the Qunari attack. Many, many warehouses and ships were damaged or outright ruined, as were the livelihoods of those that depended on them. Not everyone could make their money as Norina did.

His earlier thoughts of the Champion must have summoned her to his house, because she was back for the second time that week. Bran was glad for the company. The nights without her were lonelier than he would like to admit, and though the work piled up, he could no longer find it within him to spend so many hours at his desk. He was only one man, his efforts belayed by extreme exhaustion. It should worry him that she'd become his respite, but he'd been here before. This would end, and he'd find someone new again, less comforting but no longer testing his fortitude daily, his real comfort in the memories of their time together.

"I've missed you, Bran," she said, tilting her head to the side as she spoke, "I think my house is too big for just me." She was settled into her normal perch on the settee where he painted her. It was nearly finished, just lacking the details and definition to make it graduate from a passable likeness to a great one. He preferred to have her model as he painted in the finest of details, though he would rather have had her company without the burden of the debt between them.

"You should not move, Norina." Bran never knew what to say when she was so honest with him. For a while, they'd been so good at dancing, but lately she didn't care to pretend anymore. Pretense was all he had. She yawned back at him, and Bran closed his eyes to silently ask the Maker for patience.

When Bran opened his eyes, Nori's smile was aimed with its full force at him, and he couldn't deny that it was like sunshine after weeks of rain. Maker help him if he fell in love with a refugee Ferelden. The thought made Bran press his lips into a thin line, though they softened as he looked back at Nori, who was still grinning.

"You're still in possession of two of my favors," she reminded him unnecessarily. "Perhaps we should puzzle out what I could give you for them."

Bran thought about it, losing the thought as he painted in the way the light shone off her shin. It caught the thatch of black hair between her legs, and he painted a highlight there too, but frowned as he got to her breasts. She was still watching him, waiting, though many minutes had passed since she'd posed her question. He got up, and after placing his brush in the glass tumbler of turpentine, kneeled next to where she posed. Bran placed a soft kiss at the base of her neck, and then moved lower, kissing the breasts he'd just been staring at. Her nipples hardened as he caught the beads in his mouth, suckling first one and then the other to rigid points. He heard her gasp, felt the hand the went to his hair to pull him closer, but he drew away before it could go any further. Reluctantly, he focused, willing his cock down as he sat behind his canvas. Hawke shot him a disappointed look as she moved herself back into position, a lovely flush over her skin.

"A distraction?" she asked, but Bran shook his head.

"Just trying to make the details perfect. I am lucky to have such an obliging muse," he said, earning her smile once again. "And I've thought about your proposition."

"Good."

"There are things I'd like to try," he said silkily, ignoring her undignified snort of laughter. "Yes, my dear, there is more." Bran stopped her before she even had the chance to talk, holding up a hand. "Although you are devilishly wonderful in bed, and over my desk, and in my garden -- those locations are a bit routine, don't you think?"

"And you'd like to bring a more natural element into our sport, would you?" Nori asked, catching on quickly.

"Perhaps just a smidgen more diversity to our settings. All the plants I desire to see are in my courtyard already."

"So you'd like to do it someplace different. And I'm guessing that you don't mind people around, but wouldn't like to get caught or be seen directly."

"Correct," Bran said, the word sliding from the side of his mouth as he concentrated on the details.

"How about the Viscount's throne room then?"

"I've done that before. Keep thinking, Champion." She harrumped at him, a pout marring her picture perfect face.

"Well, I haven't, so maybe I'll use one of my favors for that one. I'm sure I can think of someplace."

"I'm sure," Bran echoed, deadpan as the fine line of his brush worked at putting in all the small details he wanted to preserve of her image. When he looked up at her once more, the pout was gone.

"How about I fuck you in the count room of the Prodigal on a pile of coin as the people gamble away their fortunes?"

Bran put down his paintbrush to laugh, careful not to lose the meticulously mixed paint even as he doubled over. Nori however, wasn't laughing with him, though a grin had spread across her face.

"My dear, if you manage that, I will marry you," Bran said, still chuckling as he resumed painting. The count room at the Prodigal was a place made of almost completely of myth, with only a select few ever allowed in. Whatever her money or status, they would most certainly not allow Nori free reign of the room where they made their fortune. He had never even seen the room, though he had collected the taxes on the business personally for the last few years.

"Then that's definitely off the table," Nori said, her own giggles mingling with his. "You would marry me for that?"

"I have never even seen the room myself. It would take some skill to gain entry, and cleverness alone wouldn't be enough. A certain flexibility, deviousness and determination would come into play. Those particular traits are just the kind I find alluring." Bran admitted, distracted by the flickering light from the fire. He sighed, got up and added another log. When he sat down again, she let the subject drop and it fled his mind.


	9. Chapter 9

The hot, humid air that went from mist to dense fog to raging thunderstorms fit Aveline's mood. She was not normally given to be so stormy, but she was bone tired, and weary from working alternating day and night shifts. Even though her eyes ached every time she blinked, dry from fatigue, she didn't dare shirk a shift. Besides, this would be the perfect time train recruits -- something that could keep her mind and feet occupied while not straining her senses. Finding Hawke's letter-writer on top of all of the regular business of keeping Kirkwall in check was wearing on her.

Investigations could linger, but this one was like a burr under her skin. It took up too much space in her mind and the answers were too elusive when she tried to pin them down. All the questions, and the maliciousness of the notes -- it set Aveline's teeth on edge to think about. She feared for Hawke, but wasn't sure how to best protect her. Normally, she'd just watch the house, find the person leaving the letters and go up from there, but as far as her guards and Varric could tell, no one was leaving letters for Hawke. They showed up out of thin air, mixed in with other more innocuous deliveries.

Part of her tiredness had to do with waiting around two nights before as Sebastian and Varric visited the Prodigal. The pair of them went in first, and the next day the four of them went back to check the books and have a look around. Aveline brought the full authority of the guard, Fenris was her backup and Sebastian and Varric had scouted and could pick locks. It had been a sound plan.

Sebastian had gone in to the gaming house first, drawing on the fact that he hadn't been there for years. He was more of a distraction, there to let his conspicuous presence be known so Varric could do the real looking around. It wasn't that Aveline didn't trust Sebastian, but rather that she hadn't worked with him as often as she had with Varric. She knew what Varric could do -- there was no lock that could resist his gilded picks. Even Isabela would have been more of a known quantity than Sebastian, but by unspoken agreement, she was keeping Hawke company whenever she decided to venture out, especially if Hawke decided to stay in the city proper and socialize with the nobles.

Varric told her to go home just before he'd gone into the gaming hell, about a half hour after Sebastian. She hadn't, choosing to remain in the barracks and work. Her guards still needed her, even if this investigation didn't. There was the last duty roster for her to approve, the night shift to see off and then her own reports that needed updating before she could head home to Donnic. Then he would want to hear all about their plans for the night, another half hour at least to fill him in and answer all the questions he'd pose. Aveline yawned just thinking about it, and then, smiled. Thoughts of Donnic always made her smile. In the morning, after she and Fenris went to check out the books, they'd all meet up and report at the Hanged Man.

The sun had just finished rising when she and Fenris went into the Prodigal the next morning. It was early enough to earn grumbles from the bookkeeper summoned to answer her questions, but she didn't begrudge him the moaning -- he'd probably just gone to bed after finishing the count. When she asked to see the books, she saw his hand hesitate over the real ones before pulling what was surely doctored accounts off the shelf. Aveline threw it back to him, where it landed at his feet with a thud.

"The real books, if you please, or I'll have you thrown in the stocks for obstruction. I'm not a patient woman today, bookkeeper," Aveline said. Between her words and Fenris' pointed glower, they got the real accounts and privacy to look them over. The bookkeeper couldn't leave fast enough, probably to warn whomever he reported to about Aveline's inspection. She suspected a bribe would be coming the way of her office soon. She would ignore anything that came to her, as she did with the other tributes that still tried to get into her good graces, but she suspected once no charges came their way, the owners would be less zealous in sending things her way.

"Look here," Aveline said, and then winced. Fenris still didn't read well, but he came over anyway at her call.

"What am I looking at?" he asked.

"These accounts are marked Reinhardt. They're in debt, heavily, to the house. It looks pretty bad for them, it says here that a letter of credit was denied by their bank and that the Prodigal is charging them interest on the payments to pay it off."

"What about the other, Rousseau?"

Aveline paged through the heavy tome until she found the name, looking up and down the page to be sure she was reading it correctly.

"They're not doing so well themselves. It looks like both families are in need of money, though there are some funny notes. They were winning, consistently at one point and it looks like they lost it all." She whistled through her teeth at the amount of money they'd paid into the gaming hell. "They even lost their membership at one point -- here it says 'reinstated' next to their name."

"Did Varric or Sebastian say anything about them before they left last night?"

Aveline scratched her head, thinking back. "Sebastian mentioned Reinhardt, a daughter that he knows. He was going to talk to her if he saw her. Apparently, she's been trying to get his attention at social events for a while. I got the feeling she had her eye on Sebastian to marry, though he didn't quite say it when I asked."

"It could just be infatuation," Fenris pointed out, his tone mild.

"True, but it seems a little desperate to try for the hand of a sworn brother, doesn't it?"

Fenris didn't reply, and Aveline took out her notebook. She wanted to copy down the amounts and annotations on these pages before they left. She couldn't leave with the book itself -- not unless she wanted to incur the considerable wrath of the owners, which would hamper the lives of her and her guards in numerous, unpleasant ways. No, that wouldn't do, but notes she could take and would try to write down anything that looked out of the ordinary.

It was a good thing the seneschal had her filing so many financial reports, reading a balance sheet was much easier for her than it would have been back in Ferelden. That man made her account for every copper at least twice, but right now, Aveline had no complaints. His books for the whole of Kirkwall were nowhere near as detailed as what she was looking at in the gaming hell.

For good measure, she checked the Landley family's page, but as she suspected, they were paid up. After Isabela told her of the soppy poem he'd written Hawke, Aveline had all but discounted the youngest Lord Landley as a suspect. Still, she wrote down the note about his paid balance and the few wins that were noted in the account. Then she flipped back to the pages she'd marked for Reinhardt and Rousseau. She'd take the notes to Varric after they left, and see what he could make of them.

#

Sebastian was the Hanged Man when she and Fenris arrived. He and Varric were comparing notes on the night before, Varric looking just a little more tired than usual, but Sebastian hiding his yawns behind a smile and a tankard of water. The green tinge to his skin certainly denoted a slight hangover, though Sebastian insisted he was fine. Aveline guessed that his tolerance for alcohol was nothing like it had been in the past, and even a few drinks would be an overindulgence for him.

"Choir Boy knows how to gamble. Who knew? I'm beginning to suspect he loses Wicked Grace on purpose," Varric said as she and Fenris entered his suite.

"He does," Fenris confirmed, and Sebastian groaned.

"And he's good at getting information, though I'm not sure how much use it is to the investigation," Varric said, and now it was clear that he was teasing Sebastian about the night before.

"Well, yes, let's get to that. We just got to see the real books at the Prodigal," Aveline told them, "And it's debt for both families."

"Not the Vaels. Sebastian left the tables flush last night."

"It went into the poor box at the Chantry, I told you," Sebastian said, giving Varric a chiding look. "I cannot keep any ill-gotten gains, especially not from an investigation."

"Did you make any money last night, Varric?" Aveline asked, suddenly interested. All this talk of Sebastian might be deflection, she reasoned.

"I had some luck, but more with your people. The Rousseaus talk about Hawke a great deal, referencing her in passing, as if they were having a conversation about her before that they hadn't finished."

"She must be a topic of some talk in many households," Fenris reasoned, but Varric shook his head.

"I don't think so, at least, not like this. They talk about her like she's the butt of a joke that only they know. I caught snatches of them saying things like "Better go dig through the garbage after this, so I can wind up Champion of Kirkwall next."

"Aye, I heard some of that as well," Sebastian confirmed, and then cleared his throat. "There was some scandal surrounding them, but I couldn't get anyone to speak on it."

"Word is that they'd been winning by cheating," Varric confirmed. "I checked with some contacts late last night, but I'd heard a while back they were in some hot water. I think they paid back their suspect winnings and their membership was reinstated."

"That explains the notes I saw in the ledger," Aveline said. "Lots of money changing hands before they were reinstated."

"Lady Reinhardt the younger was most forthcoming about her family's financial situation. She'd like to secure a good marriage to help them."

"She won't be doing that by being seen sitting so close to you," Varric said.

"The marriage she wants is with me, so I suppose she thought she was making some headway last night," Sebastian answered. Aveline chuckled at the pained face Sebastian made as he said it.

"Reinhardt just looked like they were in debt up to their ears. No special notes," Aveline told them.

"They went in big with the some of the raiders and lost big. Hawke emptied out a fair few of the warehouses the raiders use. Might have been she upset some of their profits," Varric said, thinking aloud.

"How can we draw them out without endangering Hawke?" Sebastian asked, and they fell silent as they thought.

"Marriage is an option," Fenris began, making Sebastian turn to give him an incredulous look.

"You're suggesting I marry Lady Reinhardt?" he asked.

"No," Fenris answered, then continued smoothly. "But you could marry Hawke, or at least, say that the two of you are going to be married," Fenris said, looking thoughtfully at Sebastian. "That may force the hand of the culprit, and it will allow you to accompany Hawke to social events. Though Hawke would balk at the suggestion of needing protection."

Aveline turned to stare at Fenris. Sebastian looked a little ill at ease at the suggestion, but Fenris grew more certain as she looked at him. He had a fair point, but before she could say anything, Varric spoke.

"It's not the worst idea, Choir Boy. Maybe putting Hawke front and center with an engagement will force the letter-writer into a misstep. Especially if they think a quick wedding is to follow, to cement an alliance or something." Then he shrugged, turning to look at Aveline. "It's not like we learned a whole lot on our mission. We need them to slip up."

"This only works if Hawke will agree to it," Aveline said, but then gave a grim smile at the whole room. "But I think she will. This sounds like it will appeal to her."

Varric heaved a heavy sigh and spoke up. "I hate to admit it, but you're probably right. Hawke loves this kind of shit, especially when it involves duping nobles."

#

Before Bran left for the Keep that morning, he went to look at the painting he'd nearly finished. He did it before he was even finished getting dressed, bare-chested and still wet from his bath, but unable to resist that siren call of seeing her again, even in paint. It was impossible for him to look at it and not want to close his eyes to call memories forth, to see her glorious form stretched naked across the chaise in his mind's eye, as if she were still there for him to paint. It was sobering to know that this all might be coming to an end soon, that his beautiful muse might not continue to make his nights bearable and his wrists ache from the extra exertion. He would miss Nori, even though he always made a show of acting as though he wouldn't.

An end had always been their future. Even for all that he knew that, Nori dominated Bran's thoughts that day. He found himself thinking of her all through the morning, alternating between memories of her in his bed and the way she looked painted in his portrait. She'd made him laugh at their last dinner together, and Maker, he couldn't remember the last time anyone had coaxed a true laugh from him since Marlowe and Seamus died. It was like the Qunari attacked him personally, tearing down the pillars his life sat upon and leaving him alone to rebuild. All he had now was his work, which normally filled his time reasonably well, but wasn't enough that day. At least work was constant, he thought, as he mounted the stairs to his office.

He was lonely. He could admit that to himself, but even when Marlowe was alive, Bran wasn't sure there was a time when he wasn't lonely. With the Viscount around however, it wasn't quite so bad. Perhaps it was that quality that brought them together, because it lay beneath both of them. Bran shook his head, trying to dislodge the thought from his head by force. He sat at his desk with only a few minutes to himself between meetings and here he was, wasting time on maudlin thoughts.

There was an endless pile of work awaiting his acknowledgement, but none so trivial he could manage it in the time he had to spare. Bran sharpened his quills and went to stand outside his office, looking over the Keep itself. Watching the flow of people in and out from above always calmed him, and though he wasn't sure why, his nerves sat on edge.

"Seneschal, my lady regrets to inform you that she's unable to make your meeting this afternoon." A liveried page told him, skidding to a stop at his feet. Bran tsked, not just at the page, but at the lateness of the notice.

"Very well. Go back to your lady and give her my acknowledgement and reminder that she must wait if she wants another appointment," he said, and turned without waiting for a response to go back to his desk. He wouldn't bother to honor her appointment requests again, and would make a note of it in his ledger. Well, he would once she sent him a suitable recompense gift, but not until then.

Though changing his schedule irked him fundamentally, it was just as well. It was time for his collectors to go gather the business tax for the month and he had to oversee their deployment this afternoon. This week would be long as the money and excuses trickled into his office. Bran was dismissing them when the Guard-Captain came to his office with her reports.

He didn't dislike Aveline, certainly not after all the good she'd done for the city. Despite her Orlesian origins she was somehow, more fereldan then Nori in his mind. She hated to be in his office, he knew, but he stopped her with a gesture before she could leave, and picked up her reports to page through them.

"Thank you, Guard-Captain, for your promptness. May I ask how your inquires are going into the matter with the Champion?" Nori had never mentioned it to him, but that didn't mean he wasn't interested. Aside from her first, brief questioning, Aveline hadn't brought it up again.

"Nearing the end of the investigation, I think, if all goes well. Do you have any concerns about it, Seneschal?" she asked. Her eyes were intelligent, but not nearly as shrewd as they'd need to be to see the relief he felt at her news.

"No, nothing. It was a matter of interest to the city after you mentioned it before, but if all is as well as you say, I will consider the matter closed."

"Not closed, yet, but nearly. Two main suspects have been narrowed down, and no new notes have been delivered recently."

"As you say, Guard-Captain. That will be all."

She got up with a quickness that only the experienced and nimble could manage in that armor and left his office. Almost done didn't mean that things were finished, but a small knot of worry he hadn't realized was locked inside of him loosened. Bran would see her for himself tonight, if she kept their date.

#

Nori did come to him that night. Whatever she'd done that day, and he was sure it had been some sort of skirmish, she was healed and clean when she came to him. Her skin smelled of lyrium and elfroot, but he didn't inquire as to how her day went or what had caused her pain. Instead, he let her talk as his hands worked, focusing on the details he needed to fill in for the painting to feel finished to him.

Finished was a feeling, and though the painting was nearing that point, he hoped that he and Nori weren't. It bothered him that this end should be different from all the others, that this one stuck in his mind and cried out to go on, and worse, that he listened. When he was finished to his satisfaction, Bran held his hand out to her and decided that perhaps he'd ask her to come visit again, later, if he were so inclined after this last time in bed.

"Nori, would you return tomorrow night?" Bran asked, his mouth up against her shoulder, kissing the tender skin there.

He'd been impatient to get her into bed, but not so much that he rushed his painting. Taking his time took considerable effort on his part, and it showed in his ferocity once they were finished. Now, they were both languid and spent, she laying on her back as he rested on his side next to her. Bran, not content with just kissing a shoulder moved down further, kissing her neck as he did. With some flicks of his tongue, he teased her nipple into tautness again.

"Yes, of course, but I thought you said the painting didn't need more sittings." Bran heard her breath hitch as she spoke, his mouth still bestowing kisses upon her breasts, suckling and teasing at them just to feel her shudder with pleasure beneath him. He hated to stop, even just to answer her.

"It wouldn't be necessary for me to paint you tomorrow, that's true. I simply wanted to know if you'd be inclined to return knowing that," Bran said, trying to make it sound like it was just a whim he'd had, a choice that didn't much matter. "I believe we still have tokens to exchange."

"In that case, I'd very much like to be your guest tomorrow night. I hope you don't mind if I leave my robe here."

"Not at all," Bran said, a slow smile easing across his face. Tomorrow was just one more night, but that meant it wasn't the end for them, not quite yet.

#

The world was too bright and sunny for the way she felt today. Nori was reminded too much of the bright blue skies of Lothering, of her brother and his loathing of farm work, grumbling while he went about it. It was a week past since she'd last seen Bran, her adventuring had taken her out of the city on errands, and kept her too busy to play their normal games. Now, she was tired and alone, too wound up in thoughts of what she'd lost to get so far.

Her dreams had taken her back to the last place she'd thought of as home, and back to the farm work she'd so hated when she had to do it. It was cruel, to see all that she'd once had and not appreciated, to hear her brother's grumbles and her father's laugh as their mother called them in for dinner. She woke up trying to hold onto it and couldn't, the precious memories flowing away like water in cupped hands.

"Shut up, Carver," Nori whispered into the emptiness, the words fading into nothingness around her. There was no Carver to hear them, to grunt or tell her to shut up right back or call her names. There was no Mother to scold them for talking so, or Father with his gentle compassion to ease them back into their work. Even Bethany couldn't hear her, there was no answering sigh or plea for them to please hurry up.

Maker, she missed Carver. She missed her whole family, but his death hurt the most. It lingered, his brave last words as he tried to fight for their lives, and Maker, why had he stepped up alone? They got it down eventually, but why had he tried to do it by himself at first? Stupid, stupid, pigheaded little bother of a brother that she missed so much it physically hurt her. Anger and sadness burned a hole in her chest, one that it felt impossible to breathe around. She had to get out of this damn house, so full of the ghost of her mother's past and hopes for the future. These days it was full of nothing save her regret.

Her house was too big for her today, but when she tried to do anything but lay around, she was underfoot of either Bodahn or Orana. Her clumsy hands dropped bowls in the kitchen, until Orana gracefully showed her out, and Bodahn tried sweeping around her as she stared into the fire downstairs. There was nothing for her to do but leave, though she had no desire to head to the Hanged Man. Fenris was nearby, but he was at his mansion less and less these days as his desirability as a mercenary grew. There was always the Chantry, but not today. The sermons never did bring her much comfort, and with the way she felt, they would only stoke the despondent anger inside. It was an impotent rage, one that burned because of her guilt, because she could do nothing at all and had to live with it.

Though she had no wish to burden Bethany with her sadness, there was no one else she could think of to go and see. Aveline, for all her words and comfort, hadn't ever known her brother by anything more than sight and secondhand stories. Carver was always the boy that died to her, not part of her. Nori found herself on the dock before she realized that her feet had taken her there, and she was ducking her head as the ferryman counted her change, slinking to the back as far as she could go to get away from the overbearing brightness of the sun.

The Knight-Captain let her into the courtyard. Apprentices were receiving guests today, not the full mages and enchanters, but he let Bethany come out to see her. Bethany came to sit at the table where Nori waited, her tears now dried but hardly contained, just settled beneath the surface.

"Sister, to what do I owe this surprise?" Bethany asked, her voice full of gaiety that Nori hadn't expected to hear in it.

"I was missing you, missing Carver and Mother and Father too, I suppose. So I came. Is that all right?"

"Of course, though you're off on the days for visiting. Mine will be in two days. It's a good thing the Knight-Captain likes you, otherwise you'd have been sent away."

"Cullen is very kind," Nori answered, though the words had no feeling. It felt like the appropriate response, and Nori could think of nothing else to say. Now that she was here, looking at the sunlight glinting off of Bethany's bobbed obsidian hair, she couldn't bring herself to dredge up her sadness and lay it upon her sister.

When she didn't talk right away, Bethany began to tell her tales of her life in the Circle and the new apprentices she'd gotten. They were young, so young that Bethany hadn't thought the boy, around about six, had even truly come into his magic. Then he froze his bathwater in protest of taking one, and she'd had to comfort him and get him bathed before the templars caught him. Bethany's tone was lighthearted, but the story felt bleak. Always trying to live their lives being watched by the templars, afraid of the gauntlet coming down near them.

"Do you think Carver would have been a templar?" Nori asked on the heels of Bethany's story.

"I don't know. Probably not, if he had other choices," Bethany answered. She laughed softly and added, "He probably would have hated it here."

To her great horror, Nori began to cry at that answer. There were no other choices for him, and nothing more for Bethany either. No getting married or summer picnics or stolen kisses at the farmer's fair. Just these walls, and Kirkwall and the never ending troubles of the city. Maker, what was wrong with her today? She wiped at her tears with the sleeve of her dress, just as a hand touched gently between her shoulder blades.

"Champion, a word if you will," Cullen said. He didn't wait for an answer, just spoke over her head to Bethany, excusing them for the time being. Nori, still with watering eyes, followed Cullen to his office.

He closed and barred the door behind the two of them, and then reached into his desk to pull a handkerchief from a drawer and handed it to her. It was a plain white one, no embroidery or frills, but starched and clean. She took it gratefully, letting the tears she'd barely been able to stem flow into it. Cullen said nothing as she cried, not offering comfort or condemnation, but that was kind of their way. Just his presence was comforting in a steady, non-judgemental sort of way.

When she was done, Cullen motioned to the corner of the room, where a standing basin of fresh water stood. She washed her face as best she could, and blew her nose once more for good measure. Cullen stood by the window, looking out of it as Nori sat back down in the chair she'd just vacated.

"The Knight-Commander keeps a close eye on you, Hawke. You shouldn't show weakness, lest she pounce on it. Why did you come here today?"

"I missed my brother. And Bethany too, but I was thinking of Carver." She thought about the last time she'd spoken of him in more than passing, and was startled to realize it had been when Bran first began painting her, at the beginning of the season. How long ago that all seemed now.

"I can understand grief. It comes upon us without warning at times." Cullen turned to face her, a small, sad smile on his face. "Even gets the better of the great Champion of Kirkwall, it seems."

"Just this once," Nori said, and laughed. It was a cracked laugh, filled with phlegm and inelegant, but better than her earlier tears. "I should leave instead of keeping you from your duties, unless you are done for the day."

"What do you have in mind?" Cullen asked.

"I wouldn't mind some company for dinner, if you're available. Isabela and Varric might come around, if they're tired of the food at the Hanged Man." That wasn't entirely true, Isabela would come if she wanted to respond to Hawke's note, and Varric would likely pass on the invitation unless Orana was making something sweet enough to tempt him out. But she could always ask.

"I regret that I cannot tonight, but perhaps tomorrow?" Cullen said, giving her a sheepish look. She knew that he really wanted to see Isabela more than her, but Nori found that she didn't mind. His crush, such as it was, would wear itself out eventually, probably when Isabela lost interest.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow," Nori said, and bade Cullen goodbye. It was too late for her to go back and say goodbye to Bethany, all the mages and their visitors had been cleared from the courtyard, but Nori knew her sister wouldn't mind her abrupt exit. She'd come back in two days and apologize with a gift of sugared nuts from the confectioner in Hightown that Bethany so loved. That would do it.

Though she still felt the weight of grief and sadness pulling at her, Nori didn't want to give it more than she already had during the day. So much of it had been lost ferrying to the Gallows and back that it was nearly dinner by the time Nori got back to her estate. She ate alone, and in an attempt to keep herself from falling back into a pit of despair, sent a message to Bran at the Viscount's Keep. He was still working, she knew he was, and was rewarded with a reply to her message that came within the half hour. An hour after that, she was pulling up at his house, the sight of it shrouded in darkness now so familiar to her.

"Bran." Nori whispered his name and went right into him, embracing the man without a thought for their normal games. Bran allowed her to hug him for a moment, then pulled away and held her at arm's length.

He looked at her, peering at Nori with such an intense stare she almost blushed under the scrutiny. It wasn't unkind, in fact it was the closest he'd ever come to displaying concern, but it was still hard to endure. When he was done, he sighed, but not his usual bored sigh that so often punctuated his meetings in the Keep.

"What is it that you need?" he asked.

"I'm not certain," she admitted.

Bran linked his arm with hers and led her into the room where he painted, the room where she'd lain naked so many times. He'd never let her see the painting before, only glimpses of it when she was either going to or leaving her sitting. On the easel stood the painting of her, nearly complete. It was a glorious thing, so much like her and yet so removed. Surely she was never so beautiful and majestic as the creature reclined in this painting, yet she knew she must have been to be painted so. It was like seeing herself through Bran's eyes, and though she saw the care and dedication he put into the work, she wondered if it was really her or if it was what he'd like her to be. She looked at it for a long while as Bran stood there with her, though the room was cold with no fire burning. When she reached out to touch it, he caught her hand, brushing his lips with her fingertips in an almost kiss.

"The paint will be wet for another month at least," Bran told her.

"Have you ever felt like nothing you do matters no matter how much you try?" she asked. The tears she thought she'd finished this afternoon in Cullen's office were back, pricking behind her eyes and threatening to spill over.

Bran let go of her hand to cross his arms over his chest and nodded. "It's not an uncommon feeling for people that actually do things. Are you out of control today?"

Nori shrugged. "Maybe. Or perhaps I'm just lonely and tired."

"There are plenty of ways to banish all of those feelings, if you know how. I could share what I know with you, if you'd like."

"Share your secrets? Bran, I'm intrigued," Nori said. Like earlier with Cullen, her attempt to be more lighthearted didn't quite come off, but Bran picked up her hand anyway and kissed her knuckles.

"I can share a few things, just with you," Bran said. She reached to fish out a token, but he stilled her hand once again. "Not necessary this time. Later, perhaps, if you choose to do more than just listen."

"Do you trust me with your secrets?" she asked, wondering what it was that he might tell her as they walked from the room together. Her fingers were laced between his as they left the painting behind to continue on its slow drying process.

Bran gave a hard, small laugh that was full of an emotion she couldn't quite pin down. Incredulity maybe, or was it just resignation? She wasn't sure. "Champion, I trust you with my life. I hardly think a secret or two between us now is anything of note."

"I suppose you're right," Nori said, doing her best to keep her voice as causally unaffected as Bran did. Certainly, she waited until she was in shadow to let the smile that his words prompted flit across her face.


	10. Chapter 10

Sebastian was at least earnest in his desire to protect her when he offered her a ring. It wasn't the first proposal Nori had, but only the second where she'd said yes. In neither case would she get married but at least in this one, she knew that going into it. It made her a little sad all the same, watching Sebastian propose a scheme to her when she knew he would rather not be married at all. Whatever she felt about the Chantry, his enthusiasm for it was genuine, and his so-called 'marriage' to Andraste entered into with good faith.

"Sebastian, are you sure?" Nori asked for at least the third time, unable to help herself as she watched her new ring catch the light. It was real -- nothing less than a very real ring would do to make a convincing royal engagement -- but on loan, not bought. They were 'considering' it for a while, and hopefully would return it when this was all over.

"I'm sure that I want to help keep you safe, however I can, Hawke," Sebastian said. His answer, so dutiful and dedicated, almost made her sigh. He wanted to keep her safe from a note-writer that hadn't dared show their face and had called her a whore in an anonymous letter. Not the biggest threat she'd ever faced.

"Am I really in danger? I can't believe that I am," she began, but it was Aveline that cut her off.

"Hawke, you're always in danger. Let us do this before it goes too far for once." Aveline had spoken to her without turning around, her gaze turned towards the fire. Nori could hear in her voice what she wasn't saying, that she was thinking of Leandra and how she hadn't found out about the man behind the white flowers until it was too late. That wasn't Aveline's to bear, though she knew her friend did.

Nori blew out a harsh breath through pursed lips, but turned to smile at Sebastian as he sat down next to her. "I know this isn't the most ideal circumstances, but while I stay here I plan to be as much help as I can be."

Absently, she patted his hand. "Of course. One of the guest rooms is already made up, Merrill has just stayed. And if you don't want to move completely from the Chantry, we can at least bring your weapons and clothes to the room."

Sebastian chuckled softly, squeezing her hand. "What do you imagine that I have much more than those things?"

Nori wasn't paying attention to him, not really, looking at the sparkle of the ring and frowning, her mind always turning back to Bran. Was it strange that she could almost hear his cynical laughter at this farce of an engagement? Stranger still that the thought of it comforted her. This bauble could be from him -- Maker knows he had the money for it.

That had surprised her, when she found out he had more money than she did. Bran wasn't just the seneschal, he was practically a merchant prince from a wealthy Marcher family, though he seldom showed it. It escaped her mind what his family traded in, but they were very good at it if his wealth was anything to go by. His money had always been in his life, and he kept it quite safe.

Bran would never understand her Fereldan roots, those lean years and hard winters that went on too long, the fear that first Bethany and then Carver weren't growing because they didn't have enough food. There was a reason she'd picked up a sword and sold her arm as soon as she could, leaving and sending money home every week. It was hard for her to think on all the things she'd done, the lives she'd ended and when that wasn't enough, the things she'd done for extra coin. A hired thug would be putting it mildly, if she really thought about it. There were parts of her life she kept secret, hidden, and she doubted she would share them with anyone, much less Bran, who didn't seem to care enough to ask.

"Hawke, are you all right?" Sebastian's hand was still in hers, but the room had gone still. Aveline had turned from the fire to look at her, and Sebastian was frowning. Nori gave them both a small, apologetic smile.

"I'm fine. Thank you, both of you, for doing this. Hopefully it will be resolved quickly. Now, if you don't mind, Bodahn will help you settle in Sebastian, and you're welcome to come for dinner tonight, Aveline," she said, pulling on her poised demeanor as best she could. Her mind was still lurching ungainly from thought to memory, thinking of Bran and the past, all the promise such a ring had never held for her in the past. Why couldn't she stop thinking of Bran when she looked down at her hand?

"No, thank you," Aveline said. "I've got to walk the night watch down near the docks with one of the newer guards tonight. Remember Lia, the elven girl that we rescued from the magistrate's son? She's still a little green, and this is her first night doing a difficult patrol."

"Give her my best," Hawke said.

"I will. She'll be glad to hear from you," Aveline said. "Hawke, be careful. You," she said, looking over at Sebastian, "be on your guard as well. If anything happens, guards are always nearby and under orders to find me immediately at your request."

With Aveline's exit, Sebastian pulled his hand from where it sat on the table, gently extracting it from her distracted grip. He looked particularly handsome, forgoing his armor for plain clothes of a fine make. Perhaps he felt he had to propose as himself -- not as a white armored brother or in the Chantry robes she knew he still wore. He gave her a lopsided grin as she looked up at him, then down at the ring once more.

"I know, it's a beautiful piece. I'd be happy to gift it to you, once this is over," he said, his voice too kind, too gentle. She shook her head at the suggestion.

"No, thank you. It is pretty, but my mind is elsewhere. Are there rituals or special celebrations that we should observe to make this seem legitimate? In Ferelden there are things my parents would do, but neither of them are here to do it, and Bethany can't do it, locked up in the Circle."

Sebastian's deep chuckle startled her, and she looked up at him. "I doubt very much that Varric or Isabela would let you forgo your traditions just because your mother is gone. If anything Aveline would be the first one to remind them, but since this is just for show, we'll skip the traditional parties and all the preparations that might normally go along with a royal engagement. For now, let's just act as if it's an alliance more than a love match."

Relief spread through her at his words -- an alliance she could handle. She smiled up at Sebastian and nodded. "An alliance. That sounds good. Let it commence with dinner tonight, I have some errands I need to run before then."

Sebastian agreed to see her at dinner and bowed his way out of her library, leaving her alone. Nori heard the front door close behind him. There were things she needed to do, an appointment with her dressmaker, potions she'd intended to drop off to Anders and a meeting with the bank that would likely be shorter than she anticipated but longer than she hoped. It was late morning and if she hurried, she might make it to the Viscount's Keep to see Bran and talk to him before word reached him.

Hawke sighed, stretched and got up to put on a different dress. If she were really going to marry Sebastian, she would get dressed to go out instead of putting on armor, so that's what she did. Playing the part shouldn't unsettle her the way it did, but her stomach tightened as she stood looking into her wardrobe, the sunlight filtering through her window catching on the sparkling ring as she stood there.

#

Bran hadn't expected jealousy to taste so bitter, not after all these years. It had long been something he'd been free of, an unpleasant sensation he'd forgotten. It didn't suit him, felt like wearing ill-fitting clothes to a long meeting, but he was too long out of practice and couldn't remember how to banish the unwanted feeling so he stewed in it. The Champion was free to marry whomever she wants. Their world of nobility moved in a world of alliances and propagation of wealth. He wouldn't have picked himself for her, if he were being at all honest, but it stung that she did not tell him of her decision to marry.

The news had come to him on a wave of gossip that careened into his office in the early afternoon. The Lady Champion had been seen at the bank, and upon leaving congratulations were offered to her on the event of her engagement. It tallied with the dresses she'd bought earlier in the day, a whole wardrobe of new, grand gowns. Wasn't it exciting? Lady Carlisle was mostly chattering to herself as she sat across from him, not noticing how still the seneschal went, how clipped his words were when he finally found them again. He was like that in her mind, mercurial, unpleasant, and Bran did nothing to change that perception of himself that afternoon. He was short-tempered, annoyed and in a foul fury come early evening.

That was how Nori found him, the day nearly done as he stood over the Keep, looking down yet not seeing much of the people there. She drew his eye as she entered, because she always did, though this time it annoyed him. He saw her walk in, wearing a gown that he'd last seen her in after it had spent a night on his floor. The sight of her in it again made him angry, though Bran wasn't entirely sure why it did.

"Seneschal, may I have a word?" she asked. The Champion fixed him with a small smile, which he didn't return as he gave her a sharp nod and headed towards his office without looking back to see if she followed.

Bran sat behind his desk, forgoing the usual kiss he gave her whenever she visited his office. She gave him a quizzical look, but he kept his face bland and cool as he invited her to sit across from him.

"I understand congratulations are in order," he said, holding up a hand before she could interrupt him. Surprise was betrayed on her face, and he wondered if she'd actually come here to tell him herself. If she had, the vain effort was carried out far too late. She had to have known how quickly such gossip would spread to him.

"Jealousy, Bran, truly? How tiresome."

"Am I tiresome, or has our affair just grown so? It must have if you're getting married to get out of it. I had no idea you were even looking to be wed, Champion. I might have made my case, were I given the chance, though I'm no prince of the Chantry to sweep you off your feet with Chant of Light verses."

She winced at that, but he wasn't sure if it was his words or the acidic tone in which they were delivered that was the cause of her distress. For a moment there was silence between the two of them, and she didn't meet his eyes. They stayed fixed on her hands, clasped in her lap, her lips pursed together. Had he not known better, he would have thought she was fighting back laughter.

"There are many things you don't know, seneschal, that led to this decision. A pity really, that we cannot discuss them, but they must remain secret." Her tone was icily placid, and Bran nearly smiled. Hawke was going down swinging, and he could only oblige her further. She stiffened, ever so slightly as she sat in the least-comfortable chair in his office, as if she hadn't noticed how awful it was until then. Then again, the last place he remembered her sitting in this office was on his lap, so perhaps she too had just recalled that memory.

An inkling of doubt began to creep into his mind when he caught sight of the ring on her finger. It was beautiful, sizable without being gaudy, elegant, with a blue center stone that looked almost precisely the shade of blue that Starkhaven used in their royal sigil. The ring flashed in the light, beautiful refractions of the light glinting back onto her face and the hard smile that Nori was giving him -- he knew that look though he'd never seen it on her before. It was the smile that must have been the last thing so many of her foes saw before she gutted them.

"Of course. I realize that a life such as yours must be shrouded in important secrets, how else could you so effectively keep our streets clean if the rat population didn't trust you?" Bran was snide, the venom in his remarks surprising himself.

"Is that why you said that you trusted me with your life, not so long ago?" she drew the words out, casually, as if she were watching a particularly mundane play and had to make small talk. "Or had you forgotten, my darling?" She stood up from the chair, making it necessary for him to stand up as well, because he wasn't going to let her tower over him.

Whatever he'd intended, he wasn't controlling this conversation, not anymore. Putting Nori on the defensive had unbalanced her at the start, but she fought with force as well as finesse. The jealousy and anger that still burned through him had caused him to forget what he knew to be true about her nature. It was better this way, maybe if he were angry with her, he wouldn't miss her so much.

"Circumstances were different then, and I was mistaken," Bran countered.

She had clear, sharp vulpine eyes that bore down on him, and Bran was surprised to see hurt flash through them. A second later it had vanished, replaced with a cool hardness. Nori took a step back from his desk. "Perhaps we both were, dear seneschal. I am sorry to have disturbed you, though I did wish to come and inform the office of my engagement to Prince Sebastian of Starkhaven as a courtesy, since Kirkwall is leaderless at the moment."

She reached down to her purse, and extracted something that she left on the edge of his desk. Their eyes met again, and hers were detached, almost amused, as if this turn of events meant nothing more to her than an inconvenience. Bran didn't look at it, keeping her gaze for as long as he could. He wouldn't give her this point, not if he could help it.

"It shall be a short engagement," she finished, her voice almost so soft he couldn't hear her words. Nori turned on her heel as if she were already the princess, her dress shimmering and whispering with the movement. It seemed overloud in the silence between them, but then it was gone as she left his office without another word.

He almost stopped her before she got to the door, but his legs were leaden even as they held him up, trapping him behind his desk. He watched her leave, carefully closing the door behind her. Bran's heart thumped rapidly in his chest, adrenaline rushing through him now the moment was over. On the edge of his desk was the last of his tokens, gleaming dully in the low light of his office. He didn't even have to look to know it was his, a dreadful sinking feeling enveloping him when he did muster up the courage to snatch it and deposit it in a desk drawer, out of sight. She'd given back his favor, and the shame of what he'd just done burned, white-hot embarrassment as he began a mental catalogue of all the mistakes he'd just made.

It hadn't been laughter she was fighting when she was staring at her hands, but tears. Bran sank back into his chair and covered his face in his hands as the realization slapped him. He hurt her, and that he meant to do it didn't make it easier to bear. It always had to end, but he'd ushered spite into when she'd come to be gracious. Maker, his emotions had robbed him of his senses and manners, at a time when he could ill-afford to lose either. He doubted that she would forgive him, but at least she would be away in Starkhaven, or trying to retake the city with her new husband. That thought made him more weary than he cared to admit, and he sank back into his seat, closing his burning eyes.

#

He truly hadn't been jesting when he told Hawke that he didn't own a lot. It took Sebastian only one trip to bring his things to the Hawke estate, only delayed by the fact that he needed to tell the Grand Cleric that he truly wasn't abandoning his cell, and to please not reassign it, lest he have to live in Hawke's guest room forever. Elthina had been supportive of his efforts with Hawke, though he had never told her all of the details of what they did. Upon hearing about his engagement, she only nodded and told him to do the needful -- the Chantry would be there when he got back.

His day wasn't nearly as packed as hers was, and Sebastian set out at a leisurely pace after leaving his things in the guest room at the Hawke estate. He returned to the Chantry to pray and found himself caught in a sea of congratulations and whispers as he walked across Hightown. Many eyes were already on him, and he wondered how the news could have spread quite so quickly before he remembered that Hawke went to her dressmaker. His mother once told him that a discreet modiste was rarer than Andraste's tears, and he had to agree.

He wasn't at the estate whenever Hawke got in, but when he arrived for dinner, Sebastian noticed an unusually sober mood had taken the house. It was still and far too quiet for a house readying for the evening meal. Hawke's dog was no where to be seen.

"Your Highness, welcome. Dinner will be served soon, but I fear my lady is unwell. She's taken to her room and her dog went with her. She has said to make yourself entirely at home," Bodahn told him.

"Thank you, Bodahn. I believe I'll check in on Hawke myself, then go from there." He went up the stairs and toward the large front-facing bedroom that was hers. The small, narrow hallway that led to the other bedrooms was blocked by Orana, who was hurrying down it with her back to him, no doubt on her way to check his rooms. Sebastian ignored her, and knocked gently on Hawke's door.

"Go away," Hawke said, making him chuckle. Instead of heeding her, he opened the door.

"Somehow, I knew that wouldn't work," Hawke said, and sat up in her bed.

Her room was a mess, and though Sebastian had seen it in such a state before, particularly whenever they went out to evening events together, it was still impressively slovenly. Her day dress was carelessly crumpled onto the floor, and next to it was a precarious stack of hatboxes that looked like they'd just been delivered. Her armor was haphazardly stacked in a corner, which made Sebastian shake his head to see it in such a way. She was usually good enough to at least take care of her armor, but if she was indeed ill, perhaps taking it off had been difficult. Clothes and shoes were strewn everywhere, as if she'd emptied her wardrobe of the offending items and had no intention of putting them back. Sebastian moved to clean off her desk chair and delicately picked up an elaborately embroidered corset and matching smallclothes. He felt himself blush as he set them aside, next to a half-melted candle stub and a receipt from the chocolatier in Hightown.

"Hawke, your room is atrocious," Sebastian began, making Hawke crack a small smile. As he noted the wobbliness of her smile and her red rimmed eyes, he realized that Hawke wasn't sick, but had been crying.

"It is. I meant to tidy it, I truly did, but I haven't been here for more than two nights in a row for the past month, so I'm just dressing and leaving. I always feel bad if Bodahn or Orana come up here and have to deal with my messes, but I didn't get to it. It's been a long day."

"What's making you cry, Hawke?" he asked, slipping into the voice he used to listen to confessions.

She buried her face in the side of her dog, who was laying next to her. The mabari whined in her arms, sensing her distress. When she looked up at him again, her eyes were even more bloodshot. "This isn't easy to say, but I should have told you before. I had an arrangement with a gentleman, I suppose is the best way to say it."

Comprehension dawned, and Sebastian suddenly felt very sorry that he hadn't thought to ask before they implemented their idea. "And he took the news of your engagement to mean an end to your relationship?"

"You've got it in one. He wasn't pleased at all, and I had planned to tell him it was all just a farce, but he had already heard before I got there and let me know of his displeasure. Things got nasty. Guess I should have seen that coming," she said, sighing.

"But you cared for him, so now, you're upset," Sebastian went on, carefully understating the situation. Those kinds of tears, the ones making her face swell and her nose stuffy, they weren't for simply liking a person. Hawke had fallen in love, and he wasn't sure whether she realized it or not. More than likely the man that had caused her tears didn't know, otherwise, he was simply unworthy of them.

"That's a bloodless way of putting it. I thought that if I reached him first and told him, explained everything that he'd understand, but I didn't get the chance. He isn't a patient man, and we exchanged words. I doubt that either of us is forgiving enough to let them go."

"Why were you with him?" Sebastian asked, his curiosity piqued.

"At first, just because I wanted to be. He wasn't off-limits or anything, oh Maker, don't think me another dallying noble -- he's not married, but rather just a tad too unsuitable. And he never tried to be anything different. I liked that he wasn't trying to impress or change for me or ask that I do so for him, he simply did what he had to do, what he wanted to do. Later," she sighed and looked away, letting her dog escape from her grip, "we bonded, in a way. I hoped it wouldn't end, though I knew that it couldn't last forever."

Sebastian turned his head as she wiped her face, brushing away a short flow of tears that came on the heels of her remembrance. He was unsure of what to make her assessment of her man. He sounded like a mercenary, but though almost honorable if one didn't consider how he'd caused her tears. Sebastian came over to the bed, moved away the cloak the lay on the end of the bed. An apple core rolled from underneath the cloak and disappeared under the bed as he sat down on it.  He started to fold the cloak neatly as he spoke.

"I'm sorry I've caused you pain," he said.

"Not at all, Sebastian. He's the idiot that wouldn't let me explain; you're the one trying to save me from whatever threats are out there. I just wish," she turned away, biting her lower lip, "that he'd listened to me, but I think he was hurt too. I thought mere jealousy at first, but now, I think he disliked that he liked me so much."

"That's an odd thing to say," Sebastian said, making her laugh. It sounded congested, wet but the wryness of it still came through. He set aside the folded cloak and picked up another errant piece of clothing, putting it down again when he saw the large bloodstain on the front.

"I suppose it is. Now," she turned towards him with a too wide, entirely false grin, "you're already in my bed, would you like to sleep with me?"

Her bold question startled him, and it wasn't until she laughed again that Sebastian realized her joke. "Ah, so you want to take advantage of my solicitousness?" he asked.

"Well yes, and we are engaged. I thought maybe commitment might soften your attitude a little. We'd still be friends afterward."

"Tis true, we are engaged, but if we went to bed under false pretenses, you would be taking advantage of me. Besides, not all people in love have sex, Hawke."

"I know, I know. In all seriousness, but I hate that I can still feel his hands on my skin, that I miss his touch." She stopped suddenly, and he suspected that she was in danger of crying again. Hawke drew in a deep breath and then continued, "Maker, I do miss him and I'd just like to forget it all. Do you suppose Knight-Captain Cullen will oblige me since you won't?"

He had to laugh at her attempts, though he certainly understood them. "I think not, Hawke. He's not given to seeing you in that light."

"And neither are you?" she asked, her eyes hopeful beneath the tears.

"I love you dearly and with all my heart, but I've made vows. Even if you were to be my wife in truth, I'd not see them broken."

"Shame that. And I love you enough not to ask you to break them again, even as a joke," she said, smiling at him. "But thank you for listening. Shall we go see what's for dinner?" She was up and out of bed before he could answer, wading through the mess on her floor. When she got to the door, she stopped and pulled him into a careful hug. He hugged her back, feeling the warmth of her breath on his neck, the tiredness of her body sagging against him. He felt nothing but sympathy for her, though he'd never suffered through a broken heart at the end of an affair. As he was letting her go, Hawke looked up at him.

"I smell sticky buns," she said, smiling impishly. Then she released him, raced to the stairs, sliding down the bannister to beat him to the dining room.


	11. Chapter 11

Mornings were usually the time Bran felt most in control of his world. At the keep, he laid out his agenda each morning and set his underlings to their numerous tasks for the day. Progress was made, appointments kept, meetings brought to attention and all things happened on time in the very best of mornings. Granted, there had been more mornings that went like clockwork when there was a Viscount ruling over Kirkwall, but he could hardly help that. It wasn't his doing that kept the seat empty and a void of power that Meredith loved to step in and out of whenever she pleased, as if it were her bloody armor.

This particular morning had started poorly, with Bran wrapped in unwanted dreams of Nori. She was just as vivid as life in his mind, but more uninhibited. Her laugh, normally so throaty and alluring, jarred him from his sleep as it turned shrill in his dreams. Banishing her from his mind though he might try, he was never able to manage the task in truth as he tiredly dressed for work. At the Keep, his morning plans went awry as he stepped through the door. The Knight-Commander had been waiting for him in his office, one eyebrow raised as she noted the time when he sat down behind his desk to address her. Meredith didn't like to be kept waiting, and her displeasure was known to him as every icy syllable from her mouth shot at him like a poisoned arrow.

Yet Bran couldn't focus on Meredith or her threats, even as she stood in front of him. When her words failed to get any more reaction than his normal wan smile of regret, she let him alone seeing that she would get nothing from him. With his day already in disarray, Bran couldn't muster up the strength to care. People avoided his door, skittering away without meeting his eye when Bran started to order them about. They may dislike him, but the Knight-Commander they feared and Bran, touched by her wrath, was tainted.

"Your next appointment, seneschal," his guard said, all the warning he got before a bevy of nobles began filling his office.

"We are in dire need of a Viscount, are we not?" Lady Landeau asked as she stood in his office. Not ten minutes before, the same phrase had come word for word from the mouth of another noble. Yet more appointments were made with him and more often than not, the names they mentioned for the shortlist of those to become Viscount included Hawke.

"The Lady Amell, or is it Champion Hawke? I confess, I have no idea which title she prefers. Be that as it may, she is Kirkwall's best hope, seneschal. Do you have any idea if she is considering the throne?"

"Can the Champion take the throne if she is engaged to be wed to a Prince of Starkhaven? What's the protocol for such a situation? Surely you'd know, wouldn't you, seneschal?"

"It can only be the Champion if we are to remain safe from mages and templars alike! Kirkwall needs her. When is the absolute soonest a vote can be called?"

The questions posed to him were always variations on a theme -- and the point was always, who else will lead us besides her? He had no answer, for he knew it should be her, but it was never his place to confirm or deny. In the past he merely frowned at those who asked, his disdain evident in his expression. When she was his bed companion, he made his dislike more forcefully know, scathingly calling her 'Fereldan'. Now, he had no real response, save for his body starting to warm with thoughts of her at the mere mention of her name.

Bran, already tortured by thoughts of her in his bed, began to imagine what it would be like to work with her every day. The seat of the Viscount called for many sacrifices and had precious few perks to go with it. He could see Norina, resplendent and regal in the thorny coronet of the Viscount, with her skirts pushed up to her waist and breasts bared. Once teased by that vision, he started to think of her nude but for that same coronet and a smile, bent over the railing in the throne room. Just because the venue wasn't atop his list of fantasy places didn't mean she couldn't enjoy it, and as her seneschal, it would be his job to enact her will. He could see each scene, one more erotic than the next, so realistically in his mind's eye it was almost as if they were memories he was recalling instead of fantasies he was conjuring.

Little work was accomplished, for it never was when his mornings were put off-schedule. By the end of the day, Bran was sniping at anyone unfortunate enough to get within ten paces of him and a headache throbbed behind his tired eyes. Still, she dominated his thoughts, though there were no longer playful visions in his mind but the swirl of feelings that welled up when he thought about the cessation of their tryst. There wasn't exactly a feeling of regret inside of him -- affairs had always had an end date -- but rather an unsettled feeling of discontent and a small amount of jealousy about her secret alliance with Sebastian Vael. Had he just known, it might not have stung so much. When his pride was wounded, Bran's vanity made him more prickly than any a bear awakened too early from hibernation.

Since he couldn't seem to get away from her, Bran decided he was going to finish the painting. It was very nearly done, but he hadn't set foot in the room with his paints since their last encounter in his office at the Keep. It wasn't painful, he wasn't nearly sentimental enough for that, but disquieting to be around such an image of her.

It was a beautiful painting, and if Bran was being honest, it was his best. He liked to think that all of his work was the best he could produce at the time, but there had been many less inspiring subjects. His infatuation was clear in the brushwork, the meticulous detail of it all, the way he glossed over nothing, preferring her naked honesty to show on the canvas. Nori was there, beautiful and so detailed she felt real. All he needed to do now were his few finishing touches and signing it, so the paint could finally start the long process of drying completely.

As he painted with the fine-haired brush, adding in or correcting as he went, Bran lost himself in the work. Finally, his mind was clear and his own, though it was ironic that he was working on a picture of her when it happened. Bran thought less and worked more, until he finally stood in the darkened room and declared himself done, and began the process of cleaning his brushes. She lay on the couch as she had in real life, the likeness so perfect that were she not wearing a mask it would be obvious. Maybe when it was done, he'd give it to her, or he might hold onto it for a few months, just to remember. Even as he thought it, he knew he'd never want to part with it.

#

Sebastian was a joy for Hawke to have around the estate, odd as it was to be sharing her space with someone again. The Amell estate held so many ghosts, Nori hadn't even been aware of how much she avoided the place until she had to spend time there. The place had been her mother's dream to reclaim and without her there, Nori felt like she was just in residence until something better or worse pulled her away. It was a grand lodging, but never truly hers.

She liked having Sebastian there, though the house still didn't feel like much of a home to her even with more people in it. It was less lonely with him around, and his company was most welcome, even before he started doing extra chores. He thought nothing of weeding the garden, of helping her tidy her room, of lending a hand with the mending and washing. It did cause people to start whispering, that he moved into her home so soon instead of remaining in the Chantry. Oh, the scandal! They weren't even married yet! It was truly for her protection, her betrothed had his own chambers, down the hall from hers.

"Hawke, I'm afraid I've made a mess," Sebastian began, walking into the library where she sat reading her correspondence. Thankfully there was nothing more unsettling than an awfully high bill of taxation -- Bran's doing. She'd just kissed a heavy ecru sheet of paper on which she'd written the words 'Eat me' in response to his bill.

"What's the problem?" she asked, looking up at him. She carefully folded her response into an envelope labeled with the office of the seneschal and left it in the pile for Bodahn.

"Orana isn't around, and I was working with the feathers for my fletchings. I need to replace my bedsheets, lest I wind up covered in feathers when I wake up tomorrow."

"That would be a sight to see," Nori said, laughing. It shook away some of the tension in her shoulders that came from reading that note. "But I can help you replace them. The linens are downstairs. Take off the old ones while I get a clean set," she told him, getting up from her desk.

Household items like sheets and dishes had been her mother's legacy. As a child, Leandra had wanted for nothing, slept on silk and never had to share a plate because there were too few. In Ferelden, she'd known hardships she hadn't been prepared for. When Nori had bought this home back for her mother, Leandra had set about restoring the luxury she'd left behind for love. Nori had never owned more than one bedsheet before living in the Amell estate.

Sebastian was waiting for her, the dirty, feather covered sheets stuck in a corner of the room. He grinned ruefully as she came into the room, and offered another apology.

"It's really no bother, Sebastian, grab a corner and help me put on this sheet and tie the ends," she said, holding up the fitted sheet.

"I never made my own bed before going to the Chantry," Sebastian admitted to her as they worked. "And sometimes I wish I didn't have to."

"There's always something about making the bed that seems so onerous, even when fresh bedding is so appealing," Nori admitted. "But I'm just glad I don't have to do the wash anymore."

"I forget your humble origins, sometimes, though I shouldn't. You are nothing like the Amells, at least the ones my mother spoke of."

"Now you just sound like Bran, he was always going on about my background, calling me a turnip just to vex me," Nori said, voicing the thoughts that were never far from her mind since their last encounter. She missed Bran, too much for a man she'd never intended to be serious with. She froze after the words were out of her mouth and Sebastian had fallen into a stunned silence, one hand clapping over her traitorous lips as she realized what she'd just said. Of all the stupid things to do...she hadn't even thought about it, the words just came out.

When she was able to look up at Sebastian, his eyes had widened just enough to let her know that he'd understood all that her words meant.

"The seneschal? Seneschal Bran? I can't say I was expecting him to be your lover. Was that what you asked him when you gave him all of his tokens?" Sebastian asked.

"We weren't, well, you have to understand it was just," Nori began, her voice softer than a whisper. She couldn't go on, her tongue caught on words she didn't know how to articulate. It had been a game, until it wasn't, and now it was too late, but how was she to tell that to Sebastian?

"You care for him," Sebastian said, his voice too kind and gentle for her to bear. Nori looked away from him. Angry tears began to well in her eyes, and while she didn't care about crying in front of Sebastian, she would be damned if she'd cry over Bran. With a hard intake of breath, she composed herself outwardly, but still couldn't think of what to say.

"In a way, I suppose. I wasn't trying to." She stopped and bit her lip, struggling to get it straight in her head.

"You weren't expecting to develop feelings for him?" Sebastian supplied, giving her a strange, pitying look. Strange for all that it was pitying, it looked a little incredulous as well.

"No one knows, I mean, outside of his servants I suppose. They know, they'd have to. They've made me breakfast more than a few times, or driven the black carriage so I could get home in the middle of the night. We were more than just casual lovers, but not enough of anything to matter, I suppose," Nori said, finishing on the melancholy note that had been dominating her mind.

"He's not the type of man that easily admits anyone matters. Your secret is safe with me, Hawke."

"I guess it's not much a secret anymore, now that it's over. Thank you, Sebastian, for not immediately starting in on my irresponsibility."

"I'd still be careful, Hawke. Even news of finished affairs can be useful to someone," he cautioned. "It's hard to see you heartbroken and think of a lecture, though I am considerably less fond of the seneschal than I was before, and that's saying something," Sebastian said. Hawke gave a small laugh at that, and then handed him the next sheet. Bran had few fans, though with his amount of power he only needed to have enough to keep him there, and he would always have that.

#

"It's truly over?" Isabela asked, her voice low. Merrill and Hawke were a ways up Sundermount, picking yet more elfroot and other useful herbs for Anders. The clinic in Darktown had been seeing much more of Hawke as of late, and she felt compelled to help Ander replenish his supplies. Merrill, skilled at finding useful items in the woods had been a logical choice. Isabela had simply been bored, and Sebastian, still playing the part of fiance, came so he could stay close to Hawke.

Sebastian nodded at Isabela before checking, once more that Hawke wasn't in earshot when he answered. "Hawke's heartbroken, but saying nothing. She only told me her lover didn't appreciate being the last to know about our ruse, and thought Hawke had been planning to marry me from the beginning."

"That makes it sound serious," Isabela said, frowning. "I didn't know Hawke could do serious."

"She needs cheering, not prodding," Sebastian said, but Isabela waved away his concern.

"I know how to take care of her, but the timing is terrible. Hawke's not at her most confident with the notes and all that. She's not letting on, but we haven't been going out at night much anymore, and she told Aveline last week that she felt like she was being watched in the market."

"Another two notes came since I've been at the Amell estate. I intercepted them and sent them to Aveline before she could see them," Sebastian told her. The two of them had to act as if they were also gathering elfroot, and he bent down to pick up some and put in his nearly empty basket. Isabela threw in a weed and kept walking.

"Do you know who it was? Will he be at the party Aveline's trying to make Hawke attend to flush our mysterious author out?"

Sebastian looked Isabela straight in the face, said a quick, silent prayer to the Maker to forgive and lied easily. "I've no idea, she hasn't told me," he said.

"I thought not, especially since I've been trying to find out for bloody ages. Well, if it bothers her enough she'll say something. What did the notes say?"

"You're going to die, watch your step and these are the last days before you wind up like your mother," Sebastian recounted and Isabela shuddered. She'd been there with Hawke when they'd found Leandra and the necromancer who was using her body. The rare sight of fear within her made him realize anew the gravity of the threat. Isabela was never afraid without due cause, and sometimes not even then.

"You've got to keep her safe. Maybe I'll find a way to get into this party as well and keep an eye on her. There's always a string to pull in Hightown, an itch to scratch. I should get Varric to go as well."

"Talk to Aveline," Sebastian said. "You don't want to mess up her plans."

Isabela gave a low chuckle and said, "Big girl and her plans. Well, I'll see what she has planned, but she's just going to have to write me in, because I'm going. Even if nothing happens, a party's still a party."

#

It was one of her least favorite tasks, part that Aveline would delegate if she could, but a captaincy is a reward and duty at the same time. Paperwork never quite flowed from her office, but she managed to get most of it done on time, nonetheless. The seneschal had once even praised her concise reports, saying they were informative without wasting time, something they both could appreciate.

She had to get more guards for the night of the party, and she'd need to explain why it was so important for the city to take its resources to protect one person, that person being Hawke. Were it anyone else, an extra guard pair might do, or she might even simply put herself on patrol around Hightown, but for Hawke it would take several. Hawke attracted big messes in the same way she dealt with them, and those messes occurred more often than they should. But the city couldn't deny the services she'd rendered for them, and as a public figure sometimes in their employ, it was their duty to make sure she was safe as she could be in the streets.

Aveline could do nothing inside of the private estate, not until the public good was in peril, but she could keep boots walking up and down that area of Hightown until the nobles shut down for the night. She would have to rely on Hawke and whatever they could do inside to make sure she stayed safe. Sebastian, for all his piety, knew full well how to sneak around a party and be undetected, and Aveline was hoping that his knowledge was enough to keep Hawke from falling into harms way. Isabela would also be on hand, hopefully to flush out any assailants and charm those who might know who held a grudge, and the Knight-Captain, provider of brute force if necessary, would be Isabela's date.

With her paperwork completed and in hand, Aveline ascended the stairs to the seneschal's office to submit her requests. Whatever had been occupying the seneschal outside of work seemed to be over, for he was regularly found in his office at all hours again, as he had for most of the time since the demise of Viscount Dumar. Aveline had thought it a good sign when he started to go home at night, for Bran was never more testy than when his days dragged over twelve hours, but his old habits had returned and his irritable temper with them.

"Seneschal, I have an urgent request that needs approval," Aveline said as she knocked on the open door. Bran looked up at her from his work, blinking at her to readjust his focus. He didn't exactly scowl at her presence, but he pinched the bridge of his nose with a manicured hand and waved her to a seat.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice rising slightly with interest as Aveline first closed the door and then took her seat.

"We discussed before that the Champion of Kirkwall was being threatened, and the harassment has increased recently. I have reason to believe that at her next social outing, the dinner party held by Alexandre de Gabaston, she will be in danger," Aveline said.

Bran had narrowed his eyes at her, and some of his sharp, shrewdness returned to him even at the tail end of this mean day. He was gazing hard at Aveline, as if he was trying to parse something she wasn't saying. Aveline went on, since he didn't seem to have any objections. "Hawke is a hero to many in Kirkwall, and has rendered the city public service on numerous occasions over the past few years, many undertaken without recompense. I believe that it is our duty to ensure the safety of such a public figure," she finished, and pushed her paperwork towards Bran. It sat between them as he continued to stare at her.

"What about her _fiancé_? Bran asked, and Aveline was surprised to hear a banked anger buried in his tone. It wasn't a note that would have been obvious to a casual observer, but she had spoken to him many, many times over the years, about a great many people. This was the first time a mention of Sebastian had brought forth anything more than polite boredom.

"Sebastian, rather, Brother Vael, is only there to protect her inside the house, where our guards can't go. The Grand Cleric approved of the plan to have him pose as Hawke's betrothed. Since he has renounced his vows to the Chantry, she saw no harm in it, and plenty of reason to protect Hawke with this ruse."

Bran frowned at her, then looked down at her paperwork. He took it up between fine-boned fingers, taking the time to read through it before speaking again. She shifted in the silence, unable to get comfortable in chair. She ached to get out of the Keep, to walk the streets and make a quick circuit before bedding down for the night. Donnic was already there, his shift near the docks had ended over an hour ago. She thought of him as the seneschal lapsed further into silence, his disapproving look now turned on her request forms.

"Three more pairs of guards on patrol in Hightown for a matter you told me was nearly finished? How much danger is the Champion in?" Bran asked. He sounded as if he were confused by the whole matter, which was strange enough that it gave Aveline pause. Bran was pompous, biting, and sometimes overbearing, but she had considered him nearly all-knowing. Every problem she ever presented to him before was met with a wan smile and a 'ah yes' or something similar, but this was the first time she'd ever heard bewilderment creep into his voice.

Which was why he banished it when he spoke again, back to his regular, authoritative boredom. "The extra guards for a few hours pose no great hardship to the city, Guard-Captain, but the question still stands."

"It is in hand, seneschal, but it's a more delicate business than I thought. There are people to chase down that don't want to be found, and they have the money and resources to hide well in plain sight," Aveline explained. She had asked herself the same thing after she'd read the books at the Prodigal, wondering if she'd plodded along too long and kept Hawke in danger unnecessarily. But it was all she could do, it wasn't as if she were underutilizing her resources. Fenris, Varric and Sebastian could only do so much, and this was the first time she'd put a guard other than herself on the case at all. The rest of the guards had neither the experience or the time to take on such a case, and it wasn't as if she could ask the templars for help.

"So the Champion thought of a fake engagement to draw them out. Very cunning. A public event with her in attendance would be a good place to try to harm or humiliate her," Bran said. He looked thoughtful, his face drawn into lines as he looked down at her stack of papers again. With one brusque movement, he pushed them off to the side save for the last page, which he needed to sign. He did, taking his his quill from where he'd set it down on his desk when she'd entered and signing his name to the paper, then spreading sand across it to dry. She watched as he collected the sand again, pouring it back into the jar and set the signed sheet on top of the stack.

"Actually, Hawke wasn't the one to think of it, but she was convinced to go along with the plan. We had to do something, otherwise our culprit might have made a move at a time when we were unprepared."

"Can you keep her safe?" he asked, looking up at Aveline. His regard was sharp as a pin, a flash of the old Bran come back to life before her eyes.

"Hawke can keep herself safe for the most part. I just want to put an end to this little game of terror they're playing. These notes are becoming more frequent and nasty since her engagement announcement, so I think we're on the right track.

"It is approved, Guard-Captain. Is there anything else?" he asked, but Aveline shook her head at him. She was good at reading people, and something about Bran was off now, even more than it had been when she'd entered. Perhaps he was simply too tired, because now he did look even more worn than he had when she'd first come in.

"No, seneschal, thank you," she said, making Bran give a hard, sharp little laugh.

"Don't thank me yet, Guard-Captain. It's your budget this comes out of," he said as she got up from her chair. By the time she closed the door, Bran was already involved with something else, perhaps writing one of his many missives, for on her last glance, his pen blazed across a new sheet of paper.


	12. Chapter 12

It was a muggy night heavy with rain that failed to fall in any real amounts during the day, leaving the air sticky and uncomfortable as darkness fell. Humidity was so common in Kirkwall, yet she never could get used to the discomfiting heaviness, and it left her sapped of energy at the best of times, and irritable with a headache at the worst. It was the type of night that left Nori in little mood to be dressing for a party, let alone attending one, but she had promised Aveline she would help her flush out whomever was behind her threatening letters.

She was slow in getting into her dress, so slow that Sebastian sat fully dressed and waiting for her to finish with Orana for nearly a half hour before Hawke emerged, apologizing for making them late. The bath she'd lingered in had been cool to start and had grown warmer in the stagnant air, even as she'd been reluctant to get out of it. With a liberal amount of powder covering her body under her dress to soak up her inevitable sweat, she got dressed for a party she felt nothing like attending.

It wasn't just the weather, though it was making her tired and irascible, but the thought of enduring a gathering where Bran was sure to be present. He made time for parties, even if he thought little of the hosts, for appearances sake. She didn't want to see him, not now. Aveline had told her she'd requested more guards for the night from him, so he must by now know about her ruse with Sebastian. Nori couldn't quite decide how she'd act towards him when she saw him, though she knew it was bound to happen. In her mind's eye she could see him giving her a cordial little nod from across the room, all the apology she'd likely get from him. Bastard. The thought made her bear her teeth as she entered the room where Sebastian waited, looking as fresh and polished as ever.

"This gift came for you," Sebastian said, nodding towards a parcel that sat on the table in the entry where Hawke received her correspondence. Indeed a simply wrapped box tied with a dark red ribbon had been placed there, waiting for her. Nori eyed it, thought of the off chance that it might be something from Bran, a gift meant for her to open before they encountered each other tonight, and decided not to open it. If he wanted to speak with her, he'd have to do so directly, not through gifts. Knowing him the box held a fake phallus or some other item intended to shame and embarrass her should she open it in company.

"It can wait," Hawke said, and then held out her arm to Sebastian. "You look amazing, by the by. I had not thought you would wear your tartan, but it is nice to see it tonight."

"And you're my match, though not in tartan. Hawke, you look as if you barely have any knives on you at all and beautiful as ever."

She laughed, she had to at his astuteness -- she was carrying her favorite knives on her person, but she didn't feel particularly pretty, and perhaps that showed. Her hair, while it was holding up well at the moment, would likely start to frizz in the hot crush of people in a party in this already awful weather. It was braided and pulled atop her head, coiled neatly into a bun and decorated with pins adorned with pearls on the heads. Her dark blue dress had been chosen because it so closely matched one of the shades of blue in his tartan, and it was made in a floaty fabric that nevertheless clung to her bodice, the color bringing out the blue of the center stone in her engagement ring. The dress was trimmed in gilt around the hem, along the neck and at her elbows, but lacked intricate adornment. It was a simpler look than she normally liked, but it was hot and she hardly wanted to go out at all.

"Are you ready for a night full of all the things that made you stay in the Chantry in the first place?" she asked, not bothering to hide the archness of her words with false cheer.

"Hawke, I know Aveline had her hopes pinned on doing some sleuthing tonight, but if you'd rather stay home I understand," Sebastian said, but Hawke shook her head.

"I honestly don't know what I'd rather, and I apologize now for being bad company. I just don't feel much like going out or staying in, or anything. Well, maybe if we were going out to patrol, I might be able to look forward to that," she replied. It was all true, Hawke thought that staying in might drive her mad, and going out felt like too much work. Hitting things and stupid people was always cathartic, even if it did mean she had to change into armor on a night like this. "I do like killing things," she finished, giving him a large, toothy grin as she did. At least she was honest about that, if not much else in her life.

Now it was Sebastian's turn to laugh as he offered her his arm. Orana waved them off as Bodahn opened the door for them, and she and Sebastian walked arm in arm. They left the estate with no further mention of her conflicting emotions, the gift untouched on her receiving table.

#

It wasn't even a dinner party, but for that Nori was grateful. It meant no endless plates of warm food on a night like this, and no forced sitting down in a place where it was rude to pick her seat and couldn't keep her eyes on every angle. Instead there was dancing, people milling about in packs and far too much conversation she couldn't feign interest in, not with the dull roar of a headache starting behind her eyes.

She was in no hurry to drink at this party, though Hawke had a goblet of wine in her hand. It was more prop than anything else, though around her the guests at Lord de Gabaston's party were getting well and truly into it. Luckily, she didn't need to drink very often, since people were falling over themselves to come and speak to her and Sebastian, to offer congratulations. It was quite tiring, but she didn't want to fall into the inevitable stupor that wine would lead her into, so she barely sipped at hers, while Sebastian abstained altogether, save for when he quietly took a sip of hers before passing it off. She hadn't known he'd intended to be her protector in that way, but when she quietly tried to protest, Sebastian had insisted. He was in no danger, at least, none that they knew of, and he'd like to keep her from it tonight if he could.

Isabela and Cullen were here as well. They'd met them just in the entry of the party not too long after Hawke and Sebastian had made their own late entrance. Isabela was currently dancing, though Nori could see her eyes dart around the room as she spun and whirled with a partner that wasn't Cullen. The Knight-Captain refused to dance, which Nori knew from attending parties with him before, though he didn't mind if she danced with others. He stood not too far from where Isabela danced, splitting his attention between Hawke and Isabela when he wasn't claimed in conversation.

From not too far away Nori heard the lazy laugh of someone truly bored and not trying to hide it. Bran. She closed her eyes against the sound, but could feel the weight of his gaze on her even as she tried to pretend her wasn't there. Maker damn it, he never came to the ones that were mostly dancing, and she had almost convinced herself that she wouldn't see him here. Part of her was thrilled, let him see her and Sebastian incandescent in their engagement, smiling for the whole of Kirkwall.

Even as savage pleasure began to fill her it faded, because it was all a farce, and he should have realized it by now. Everyone would know eventually, and she'd have to endure more rumors about her reputation as soiled goods once she was set aside. Nori sighed through her nose and turned her head away from where the laughter emanated, wanting nothing more than to be able to leave early.

"Congratulations, Prince Sebastian and to you, Champion. What a marvelous match!" Another voice came up to her and Nori, grateful for the distraction that made her leave Bran's snide laughter behind, gave her first genuine smile of the night.

#

Bran saw her the moment she'd entered the party, late as he knew she would be. She glittered like fresh cut gems under a cloudless sky in her Starkhaven blue. For all that her engagement was an act, it made her radiant. Hawke was the star of any room without trying, and on this night she flew. The closeness between her and Sebastian was not an act, he knew of their friendship, and it leant credence to their subterfuge. Bran watched as Sebastian kept to her side, his arm occasionally around her waist. Though he saw it for the protection it was, it still stung, just a little. Their trust in each other was something they'd never attained between them, no matter what he'd once told her.

Here he stood, _a fool_ , without the words or knowledge of what to do next. Bran was a mere clerk, and he didn't have the magic or strength to actually fight for her. He had guile, cunning and a lot of experience with paperwork. All of his skills were useless as they stood trapped in the same room, a sea of people between them. He'd tried, in his own poor way to acknowledge her without words or rancor, to let her know that his anger had faded but his attempts to catch her eye failed. All of his burst of jealousy had burned to ashes, spun into shame and regret at Aveline's revelation, but Nori couldn't know that. When she finally met her gaze he inclined his head in respectful salutation, and she answered him with a regal nod back before turning to Sebastian at her side, but didn't make an opening for him to approach or speak to her.

Sebastian had been getting her wine, sipping at it before he handed it over, careful to put himself in danger before he let it get to her. The kind of loyalty that had a prince so casually putting his life before hers made his head spin. Had Bran not known already that it was just friendship between them, he might have mistaken it for the actions of a man in love as most of the people around him did.

Friendship was such an odd beast, and stranger still to he who had never been adept at making or keeping friends. There were allies and acquantances, lovers and convenience, and Marlowe before he'd died. But friendship the way that it encircled Hawke, the way it kept Isabela's eyes roaming around the room, Sebastian's aimiable smile plastered on his face while questions pelted him, the way it made Aveline get so many guards to patrol Hightown for this one night Bran half expected the murders in the other parts of the city to double overnight, friendship like that had never been his privilege to have.

They had been dancing around each other as the night wore on, the groups of people and conversations they'd buffered themselves with only lasting for so long. It wasn't so much that Bran sought her out to speak to her, but that their two groups of conversations overlapped into one, and before long he was standing in a small circle with her from which he couldn't excuse himself without being completely obvious. Isabela stood next to Hawke, but Sebastian wasn't in the group, though he lingered nearby, as did the Knight-Captain.

She turned her gaze on him when they could no longer easily avoid each other, her eyes clear and betraying nothing as she watched him. Bran was seized by sudden memories of those same eyes but filled with laughter as she called him a bastard, and how he'd chase that word from her mouth with his kisses. It didn't matter where he planted them, just so long as she found something better to call him, and every so often he'd brought her to the point where words failed her entirely. Bran gave her his haughty nod in greeting just a moment later, his flash of memory receding without a trace showing through.

"Seneschal," Hawke said, letting the word turn into a viper's poison as it lingered on her tongue. "I see your duties haven't kept you confined to the Keep tonight."

"Yes," Bran said, and then gave her a small, hard grin. "I've been let out for very good behavior." Another dance began loudly behind him, the band striking up into a lively number to cries of glee from the assembled audience. People shifted around their unmoving group, many of the people formerly hanging around their fringes heading toward the dance floor. It left just him, Hawke, Isabela and the Reinhardt's unmarried daughter for a moment, in a small cluster.

"Or perhaps very bad," Hawke supplied and Bran had a swallow his laugh. With an effort at a bland face, he titled his head in acknowledgement of her jest. Between them Isabela watched, and for just the palest moment after Hawke bantered with him, her eyes went wide before narrowing at him again. Bran could nearly feel her suspicions rising, focusing on him, but too late now for there was no longer an affair to uncover, just wounds that would heal and be forgotten over time.

"I might offer congratulations," Bran began, but Nori raised an eyebrow at him.

"Best not to, in case people talk about how small they seem compared to others," Hawke trilled, laughing as she delivered that thrust right home. He almost winced, nearly laughed, but in the end did neither.

"Interesting that you're worried about talk now, since I wouldn't have guessed the opinions of others so bothered you, especially considering how easily they are swayed by misinformation."

"What an illuminating point, Seneschal," Nori said, but didn't press him on it. If he wanted to apologize, she was rightly going to make him work for it. Bran didn't try further, not tonight with so many ears and eyes looking for anything amiss. He would see her again sooner or later, maybe summoning her to the Keep so he could make his case further before this went on too long to be repaired.

"Champion," Bran said, giving her the merest flicker of a smile, and ignoring the pointed stare from Captain Isabela. Let her figure it out, let her know, it would be Hawke she questioned about it, not him.

There wasn't time for him tonight to speak to her, but Bran was somewhat heartened knowing that she might hear him out. He made to leave their little knot of conversation not soon after she'd turned from him, palms sweating. It was when he turned to excuse himself properly that Sebastian came back to her side, and gave him a level look. His blue eyes bore into Bran, full of accusation and censure. Damnation, how many of her friends knew? One of them might have guessed but two meant that she'd let some secret of their liaison spill from those lush lips, enough for her knot of close companions to guess. Irritation pulled at him, and Bran was just going to turn back around to snark to the nearest ear, hopefully Isabela's, when it happened.

The lively music faded and was capped with applause, and a new dance was called. People began moving quickly on and off the floor, exhausted revelers from before taking seats or trading partners. Several unseen people passed him by in a blur, people moving to and from the dance floor. A figure that could have been either human or elf swiftly strode by Hawke from behind, between her and the row of chairs where the wallflowers sat out their empty dance cards. All Bran caught was the grey of servants clothing swiftly blending into the crowd as they walked behind her, Hawke's face contorting in pain and surprise, flickers both that passed before anyone else noticed. Then Hawke turned to Sebastian and say something in a whisper, causing the prince's eyes to widen in alarm before he spoke to Isabela and then turned away. Isabela took up the piece of distraction, as she was so good at doing, so that only a few eyes noticed Sebastian and Nori swiftly leaving the edges of the dance floor.

Bran followed, knowing that he'd seen more than he understood and worried for Nori. If she was hurt, he might in some small way be able to help, at least by summoning Aveline. Hawke and Sebastian made it to the hallway without people stopping them, then turned abruptly into the hall that led to the private rooms. Behind him, he could hear the noise of more than just music coming from the dance, and knew it was Isabela's doing, covering their exit. Nori leaned more and more on Sebastian as they near stumbled into the room together, and before Sebastian could close the door on him, Bran slid into the library where she collapsed heavily onto a settee.

#

"Sebastian, darling, I've been stabbed," Hawke said. Her voice was incomprehensibly calm, almost conversational, save for the note of pain even she couldn't manage to tap down. "Some sort of needle or stiletto, I think. It burns a great deal."

"Poison," Sebastian whispered and then turned from her to Isabela, his arm going around her waist to support her. "Isabela, distraction, now."

She could feel the burning sensation in her side, but she dared not to touch it until they were somewhere safer. It was definitely a needle, and someone had stuck it in her side. She'd been distracted, pretending not to notice Bran watching her, feeling the comforting weight of Sebastian holding her hand as the dancing resumed, mentally revisiting every word that had just passed between her and Bran. People had gone back and forth around her, but she could recall no faces clearly, her attention had so firmly been elsewhere.

As soon as she managed to sit down in the library with Sebastian, Bran was there. He must have seen and followed, his eyes too shrewd for his own good. It was a damn shame he couldn't fight, because he'd be a decent scout. Sebastian wheeled on him, but the seneschal looked down his nose at him as if Sebastian were the uninvited one.

"We haven't time for whatever you've come for, seneschal," Sebastian said, but Bran cut him off.

"Go find the Knight-Captain, and inform the guards outside of the house. I saw someone pass behind her in servant colors, but I can't say who it was. I'll stay with the Champion," Bran said.

"You?" Sebastian asked, incredulity laced into the short word. Behind Sebastian, Nori began to cough, feeling the press of airway as it began to constrict. It wasn't fatal, not right now, but she had to get the thing out of her without getting more poison into her or bleeding everywhere. Bran focused on her, stepping around Sebastian to come to her side.

"Do you think I've never been poisoned before, boy?" Bran asked. "If you want her to live, and I assure you I do just so she can take it out of you, go find the Knight-Captain or the Guard-Captain. Preferably both of them."

"It's still in me. I couldn't touch it," Nori said, and both Sebastian and Bran looked at her.

"Fool," Bran spat, and she first thought he was talking to her before she realized Bran was looking at Sebastian. He must have been upset to raise his voice, but as much as she tried to focus on it, Nori found that she couldn't. "Get going! Send for your healer before this gets worse!" He perched on his knees at her side, readying himself to search.

"In my side," she said, as Bran turned back to inspect her. He went to pluck it out, thought better of it and took out his handkerchief and then pulled it out. She felt a renewed burning and a spurt of blood where it had come out, but Nori was relieved.

Whatever it was was potent enough that it was slowing her down, but not strong enough to kill her outright. She was whole and healthy before she'd been stabbed, save her headache from the humidity, and said a quick thanks to the Maker that she had no lingering injuries that might have been effected by the poison in her. Sebastian had been right on that account, it was definitely poison. She'd been hit by enough arrows coated in various putresence to know the sting of it, though this was far more potent than the utter rubbish mixed up in Darktown.

"I want to sleep but I'm fairly certain that's a bad idea," Nori said, trying to muster up a smile for Bran. "Were you trying to apologize before?"

"Perhaps," he answered, the word clipped. He was still searching her side, making sure that there was nothing else out of place or sticking out of her. "The Guard-Captain informed me a few days ago about your arrangement. Aveline was worried that you were in danger and requested more guards. It seems she was correct."

"Obviously. You were jealous?" Nori asked, gritting her teeth as Bran sat her up fully and searched her back.

"I was mistaken. About a great many things," Bran said.

"I can't imagine what."

"Can't you?" he asked, and he halted his search, hands on her back. Nori closed her eyes, wishing that the burning would stop, that the fire in her blood was a rush of desire and not disease. Sweat broke out across her forehead, and it grew harder for her to breathe. "I'm unable to get the poison out of you, Nori. The wound is too small, and I'd have to undress you here to try to find it again. The best I can do now is try to wash it from your skin where it went in, to keep any tainted fabric from brushing against the puncture."

Bran got up from her side and went over to the liquor cabinet in the room. She couldn't turn to see him, but heard him opening up cabinets until he found what he wanted. When he returned to her side a compress that smelled of alcohol was pressed to where he'd taken out the needle, one almost the size of a hatpin, but mercifully not quite that long. Bran still had it in his kerchief, set off to the side as he tended her.

"Alas, whisky is the best I can do for this. It would be better to rinse it properly with your dress out of the way."

"You just want to see me naked again. Not likely to happen," Nori said, huffing out a soft laugh as she did. Bran gave her a grim smile.

"The night is still young, Champion."

Sebastian re-entered the room, Isabela hot on his heels. From somewhere on her person Isabela produced a healing potion that she handed to Bran, who opened it and tipped Nori's head back so she could swallow it. His hand felt cool across her feverish skin, and she was Nori was sure she was going to pass out sooner rather than later.

"We need to get her out of here," Sebastian said.

"Use my carriage, they should be ready to go. I had planned on leaving early," Bran said.

"I'll tell Cullen, and you two get her to the carriage," Isabela said, leaving in a swish of white gown and dark hair.

Sebastian said nothing more to Bran as he stepped around him to lift Hawke easily into his arms. It was Hawke who lifted her head and said, "Bran, come along," in a voice more whisper than command, for all that she meant it to be. In a swift move, he pocketed the poisoned needle and closed the library behind them. Bran followed Sebastian out to the sound of Cullen barking orders in the other room.

"Get the Guard-Captain. She should be outside," Cullen said, voice clear as if he were standing next to Nori. "No one leaves until everyone is questioned."

" _We're_ leaving, sweet thing, but I'll make sure to come back once she's settled. We've got rats to find, and pirates know how to root out rats," Isabela said from behind Bran. Nori could barely focus on her words, but if she had the strength, she would have laughed at the kiss in them. It wasn't Isabela flirting with Cullen as it sounded, but promising that she was going to come back and find whoever did this that make her want to giggle. A faint raspy laugh was all she could manage, and when she did it she felt Sebastian start to move faster down the blurry hallway. Maybe that was for the best.


	13. Chapter 13

She hadn't yet failed. Aveline had to keep telling herself that.

The Kirkwall Guard knew when their captain was displeased. Her mouth drew into a hard little line, and she often looked down at herself, demanding more, to be better and then made sure to pass the burden down to them. They hated those times, because Aveline was so fair and even-handed with them, that her disappointment was harder to bear than outright anger, from the blows and screams and dangerous revenge patrols that Jeven used to level upon them.

Now Aveline's mouth was all but invisible as she made her way to Hawke's estate to finish up the work, walking away and leaving her guards with the increasingly bad-tempered nobles still trapped at the party until they were all questioned and searched. She knew that she should be pleased that some of her precautions had worked -- Sebastian had been there with her, Isabela and the Knight-Captain had all made her job easier by containing people, removing Hawke from the scene and keeping it from becoming contaminated. It was as much as she could have hoped for in any investigation, but this rankled and her displeasure at being thwarted shown clearly on her face.

When she got to Hawke's door, it swung open without need of her knock. Bodahn hovered anxiously behind it, obviously waiting for her to arrive.

"Guard-Captain, messere Hawke is being treated by Anders right now, and she's upstairs. Prince Sebastian asked me to let you in immediately," Bodahn said.

"Thank you. How is she?" Aveline asked, but Bodahn shook his greying head.

"I cannot say, Captain. No one has come down to update me since um, Captain Isabela left. That was shortly after Anders arrived, and I have had no word since."

"When I come back down, I'll update you," Aveline told him, striding past. She was faking her bravado, but she of all people knew the importance of not letting her emotions show. He would take his cues from her, and she could not let Hawke's house fall apart during a time like this.

They owed each other too much for that.

At a thought, Aveline turned on her way up the stairs to address Bodahn, "I'll need to search the house, especially anything delivered in the last week. Can you make sure that's all around? Don't touch anything needlessly however, can't be too careful with poisoners."

"Of course, Guard-Captain. I will get right on it."

Aveline gave him a crisp nod that didn't show her underlying weariness, and continued ascending the stairs. For all the people she knew were in the room with Hawke, it was eerily silent behind the door. She hesitated for a moment, and then pushed the door open without knocking.

Sebastian stood over Anders, who sat at Hawke's writing desk making notes. Hawke, laying on her bed was still breathing in the even, steady rhythm of someone in deep sleep, and Aveline couldn't contain the relief that spread through her at the sight of Hawke's chest moving steadily up and down. She was alive, though not conscious as Aveline had hoped to find her. It took her another moment to process that Seneschal Bran was sitting next to the bed, in a chair pulled up to the side, looking worried. His normally sharp gaze hadn't even flicked to her when the door opened, though Sebastian had looked over at her.

"What's he doing here?" Aveline asked Sebastian, tilting her head to Bran.

"Here," Anders said, ignoring her. "I'll need all of this. Think you can manage it?"

"Of course," Sebastian answered, taking the list. "Walk with me Aveline, I can tell you what happened as far as I know."

"How's Hawke?" she asked Anders first, though she nodded at Sebastian.

"Stable for now," Anders said curtly. "And less likely to be so if you hold him up."

"Point taken. Let's go, Sebastian."

Aveline made a point to tell Bodahn that Hawke was well and resting, and that she'd be back in a moment before leaving with Sebastian. He turned to her just outside the entrance to the Amell mansion and said, "I saw nothing out of the ordinary, and then she told me she was stabbed. The seneschal told me that he saw someone dressed a servant behind her, but I confess I didn't see them. It was a poisoned pin in the side, I think to mock the poison pen notes she's been receiving." He raised an eyebrow at her, a worried look on his face. "I'm sure they thought it was clever. The pin Bran pulled out of her is still upstairs in his kerchief. It was meant to kill her I think, but Anders confirmed that the dose of the poison on the pin alone wouldn't have done it, she would have needed to be weakened first. You might want to have her food stores tested for poison, though you know Hawke, she hardly ever eats at home. Orana is practiced in detecting poisons from her time with the magister. She may have noticed something off however, and simply thrown it out."

"You think her food may have been tampered with?" Aveline asked, but she was sure Sebastian had the right of it.

"Yes, if not the food then something else that she used regularly. I can have a look around as well. My parents were prepared for a great many things, and nobles do love poison."

"They do," Aveline agreed absently, thinking about her two main suspects.

"I'd best get to this list, but I'll tell you one last thing, don't try to kick Bran out," Sebastian said, starting to walk away. He took a step back towards her and lowered his voice. "She loves him."

"Hawke?" Aveline asked, surprise making her voice louder than she'd intended.

"I daresay it's mutual. He was speaking to her just before it happened, trying to apologize as far as I could tell, but you know how Hawke is. She said he took the news of our engagement poorly, but I got the sense that neither wanted things to end. He then rushed to her side after he'd realized that something was wrong and won't be parted from her."

"Could it be him?" Aveline asked, and Sebastian shrugged.

"Perhaps, but unlikely. His distress seems genuine. Speak to him yourself if you don't believe me," Sebastian said, and turned on his heel to walk off towards the market. It was late, but Aveline had no doubt he was about to convince more than few shops to open their doors just for him.

She wasn't sure which was more shocking, that her best friend was in love with her boss, and he in love with her, and Aveline'd never known about it, or that Hawke somehow had managed to survive weeks of poisoning and an attempt to finish her off just because she spent too much time eating at the Hanged Man. She'd _avoided_ being poisoned by eating at the Hanged Man.

Definitely the Hanged Man one, if Aveline was honest with herself.

#

"Listen up, guards, we have a full day today," Aveline shouted, standing in front of her full company. Some of them were going to go off-duty and most of those had already been involved, but she had to get the information out there, even as tired as she was.

"We've a full day today, not just with regular patrols, but a murder has happened and another attempted. I'm pleased to report that the Champion of Kirkwall still lives this morning, and we're going to find the sorry excuses for people that tried to kill her."

Her guards fell completely silent, all eyes on her. They knew Hawke, had worked with and fought alongside her, trained with her and her dog when the mood struck them. She drank with the guards at the Hanged Man, and occasionally made the good kind of trouble in Hightown, drinking too much, singing too loud and being where she shouldn't at night, always with a smile on her face. She was well-liked, and they knew that Aveline considered her family. No one wanted to the be person that didn't help solve this investigation.

She almost began to resume when Aveline noticed Varric and Fenris slip into the room. They stayed at the back, near the edges, but she saw them both come in, Fenris more easily spotted because of his weapon and lack of guard plate than anything else. Varric, he could bend shadows when he wanted, and it seemed right now he didn't want to be especially noticed. She cleared her throat and went on.

"For a few weeks, I've been investigating threats against her, in the form of poison pen letters. They have been threatening her for months, though they've escalated in recent weeks. The Knight-Captain of the templars has also been receiving threats against her, since he is often her escort to society events."

"Our cowards made their move last night at a party in Hightown. The Champion was stabbed with a poisoned pin, of all things. We found an elf servant dead in the kitchens, a wound in her side that couldn't close before she bled out. I think this was a victim, someone to test the poison on before it was administered. Our elf had been slit down her side with a dagger, and left locked in a storage room. The Knight-Captain found her during a search of the premises after the Champion was attacked. The servant who stabbed Hawke and likely killed the elf is still at large, and probably gone back into the household of our mastermind."

Aveline stepped back and took a breath, readying her next piece of evidence. Though she wasn't going to address him directly, she was glad Varric was here. Neither he nor Fenris had been around when Cullen found the dead servant last night, but she wanted to make sure they knew.

"The mages that examined it say that the poison she was stabbed with last night was intended to kill a weakened person, and there were attempts to poison the household food stores. The kitchen maid, however, is adept in recognizing tampering and caught most of that before it could be prepared. There are these, however, a last minute anonymous present to the Champion, delivered yesterday." Aveline pulled out the box she'd found at Hawke's house, it had been delivered with a bow on it, and inside were a pair of beautifully made kidskin gloves. They were filled with poison. It lined the stitching and the insides and had been cursed to boot, though Anders successfully cleared that particular foulness from them.

"These little gifts had been intended for her to wear last night, though the Champion didn't even open the present. I suspect our poisoner was getting a little desperate to make sure their attempt worked, so they sent these along. Do not touch them, they are filled with Soldier's Bane. They had a hex of weakness cast on them as well, but that has been dispelled."

"So they were serious," Brennan muttered, and Aveline shook her head.

"Very serious, and they are still out there," Aveline confirmed. Upon his return last night, Sebastian told Aveline that Hawke had suspected the gloves were from Bran, but as a gift of reconciliation and not meant to harm her, but she hadn't worn them out of spite or anger at the man. Whatever the reasoning, it had likely saved her life.

"We need to find whomever is behind this, for the murdered servant and for Hawke. If not for her extraordinary constitution, we'd have a dead Champion on our hands," Aveline said. Hawke wasn't the same type of warrior she was, preferring offense to defense, but they both could tolerate a good amount of punishment. That's what it meant to be out in the front lines, as they'd both been at Ostagar. Aveline closed her eyes for a moment, pushing out the reminders of that battle and then snapped them open to go on. "I've two suspects at this time after weeks of investigation. They might be cautious because they know we're looking, but they're also going to try again because they failed. Let's make sure that Hawke is safe and catch these bastards."

The agreement that came from her guards was the low buzz of angry solidarity and quiet determination. She let them sound out their frustration before she went on to talk about her suspects. They had a job to do. No one would fail her now.

#

This had to be the Fade. It was her room, but the edges were warped and strange, and Bran was there, waiting for her. He was sitting, just waiting, and he looked his regular, bored self. He was even wearing the clothes he wore to the Keep.

Definitely a dream. Last time she'd seen him they were all dressed up for that party. Oh yes, the party, that must be why she was dreaming now.

She sat up, and felt pain. That wasn't right, was it? Dream-Bran got up and pulled a pillow over to prop her up. He took a sponge from a basin her nightstand and squeezed it out, then washed her forehead with cool water.

"You're not really here, are you?" she asked. Her voice was wispy, but it still sounded like her own.

"I am. You should rest now, Champion, I can't have your healer saying I overexerted you."

"But you should be at the Keep."

"I should be right where I am. And I'll stay here as long as you need. You know, I never said I was sorry, but I am."

Shouldn't Anders be here if this was real? Was she dreaming? It all seemed confused, and she couldn't concentrate on Bran's words. She wasn't sure what else he was going to say after that, but Nori, still convinced she was dreaming, fell back onto her pillows and went to sleep.

"I thought I dreamed you here," Nori said. Her voice was brittle, breaking like old paper crumbling into so many yellowed fragments. She tried to clear her throat, but it was too raw and the act made her wince with pain.

"I wouldn't leave you, not after you collapsed at a party. Quite unseemly. I'm sure you're the talk of the town, but I haven't left to hear any gossip."

"You haven't left?" she asked.

"You were ill and I had things I needed to say to you. You know perfectly well I couldn't leave, don't you? Or did you think I'd abandon you over some spat when you should know me better than that?" Bran asked. He was giving her his best nonchalant look, but it didn't hide his worry.

She squeezed the hand he'd been holding. "I do know you. You're so much better than you know."

"That's so far from the truth, it must be the illness talking. I shall forgive you this time for your brazen lies," he said, earning a coughing chuckle from her.

"Your healer has promised to electrocute me no less than three times, I've made your Chantry fiancé threaten me, Isabela has called me a rat and Aveline wants to arrest me for perversion after one small joke. I assure you, I'm still the man you knew and loathed before. I've just been waiting for you, because, well, I can't stand to be any place else."

"So I'm going to live?" she asked.

"Apparently."

"Did Aveline catch them yet?"

"She's got the whole city scared and the guard mobilized. I haven't kept up as well as I should have," Bran admitted.

She yawned again, fatigued after only just that short duration of consciousness. She might fall asleep again, if she had something to eat first. That she wanted something to eat was probably the best sign she'd exhibited since this all began.

"You should ask Anders if I can eat. Then I'm going back to sleep," she told Bran.

"Would you like me to stay?" he asked.

"Yes, of course, but I'd like it even better if you went and ran my city so I don't come back to ruins."

"Your city?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Come back tonight when you're finished. It doesn't matter what time. I'll get someone to change the sheets," Nori said.

"You want me to sleep with you?"

"I want to not be alone. Can you manage that, you bastard?" she asked, giving him a grin that made her chapped lips crack.

"I shall oblige, but only because I have things to say, and work to catch up on." He leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "I'll send in Anders."

She pretended not to hear the relief in his voice as he said it, and settled back into her bed. Ugh, maybe she'd get a bath too before he came back. Despite the fact that he closed the door behind him, she could hear the renewed note of smugness in his voice as he called out for Anders.


End file.
